


See the Mountains Kiss High Heaven

by theravenwrites



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, when calls the heart au lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 04:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16211594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theravenwrites/pseuds/theravenwrites
Summary: It's 1910 and Stella got the whole country in the divorce.(Working title: the When Calls the Heart AU that no one asked for and which I'm definitely not writing, I swear)





	See the Mountains Kiss High Heaven

**Spring and Fall**

      _to a young child_

Márgarét, áre you gríeving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leáves like the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! ás the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;

And yet you wíll weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sórrow’s spríngs áre the same.

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It ís the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.

                        —Gerard Manley Hopkins

**Coal Valley, Ontario, 1910**

 

Ray set his canvas bag down with a thump and looked around with narrowed eyes as he twisted the kinks out of his back. The carriage had _not_ been well-sprung, and the hard, wooden seat of the train before that hadn’t been too kind on his skinny ass, either. But he’d made it, five whole days later, for whatever it was worth.

The village of Coal Valley, if you could even call it that, was one block of businesses surrounded by rows of narrow cottages. The buildings sat in the shadow of the mountain, at the base of which lurked the entrance to the mine that was the village’s whole _raisin duh etre_. A few women in faded dresses walked the main road but otherwise the place was deserted; the men and the older boys would be in the mine at this time of day. It was very quiet, something that still took Ray a moment to adjust to, despite having moved between towns just like this for the past two years.

He reshouldered his bag and approached the nearest pedestrian. “Hey, I’m the new teach they sent up for you folks, point me towards the schoolhouse?”

She gave him a disapproving once-over but gestured to the saloon up the street. Ray knew he was nothing to write home about, even at the best of times, which after three days hard travel this certainly wasn’t, but there was no call to be rude. Giving the woman a scowl and a sarcastic thanks in return, Ray walked on. It wasn’t immediately clear how the saloon was connected to the schoolhouse, but the idea of a cool beer had taken hold of him.

“ _You’re_ the new teacher?” Welsh, the barkeep said, a horrified expression on his craggy face.

“Yeah, what about it?” Ray asked, jutting his chin. He was starting to get ticked off. Weren’t Canadians supposed to be nice?

Welsh pasted on a smile. “Never mind, never mind! I was just expecting someone less similar to the last guy, that’s all. Let me tell Mrs. Besbriss you’re here.”

Ray sipped his beer and stewed. It wasn’t like he’d _wanted_ to come all the way out to Podunk, Ontario. They could be more grateful. He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that pointed out it wasn’t like he had anything better to be doing.

A woman, who must have been Mrs. Besbriss, entered the saloon. She was younger than Ray’d been expecting, but neatly dressed and with a calm, no nonsense air. “Mr. Kowalski, hello. I see you found the schoolhouse.”

“This is the schoolhouse?” Ray looked around, confused, although he supposed that explained the blackboard pushed to one side of the room. “Fine by me, but it’s kind of, uh, what’s the word, unconventional, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid the old one blew up and we haven’t been able to replace it yet. Elaine Besbriss, pleased to meet you.”

“Ray Kowalski,” Ray said, shaking hands.

“Ray? Not Stanley?”

“I go by Ray,” he said firmly.

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Besbriss, and bit her lip.

“All right, what gives?” Ray demanded, standing and shamelessly taking advantage of the six or so inches he had on her, not that she seemed the least bit cowed by him, dammit. “Everyone’s been real shifty ever since I got here, and I’d like to know why.”

“I suppose you’d better know sooner rather than later. Our last teacher was also a Ray, Ray Vecchio, and he, ah, left a bit of an impression. 

“The kind of impression where a schoolhouse gets blown up?”

“Exactly. Although to be fair it wasn’t _entirely_ his fault. But I think most people were hoping for a quiet, respectable teacher this time around.”

Ray sat back down, somewhat mollified. He wasn’t crazy about Coal Valley, and they weren’t crazy about him either. Good honest dislike was always better than false friendship. He could work with this.

“I’m quiet, I’m respectable,” he said, crossing his fingers behind his back. “And I’m not looking to get myself killed in the line of duty, if that makes you feel better.”

“Oh no, Mr. Vecchio is fine. In fact, no one was hurt.”

“So where’s the guy now? You run him out of town?”

“I believe he took up a new line of work in the American west, somewhere a little more suited to his temperament.”

“I won’t be getting up to anything like that, scout’s honor,” he said, saluting Mrs. Besbriss with his pint glass. “I’m just here to teach the kiddos and keep my head down.”

“Glad to hear it. Let me show you to your house, which they managed to leave standing.”

Mrs. Besbriss walked Ray to a small cabin on the edge of town and hovered in the doorway while he looked around. Not bad. Plain, but not bad. He’d definitely stayed in worse, like that boarding house when he and Stella first split up. It was two rooms, a combination kitchen and sitting room, with a small bedroom in back. A large stove dominated the space, surrounded by a well-worn pair of armchairs and a weathered looking table.

Simplicity was the name of the game these days. No more fancy apartments and fussy suits in Chicago’s most fashionable neighborhoods, gadding about from lakeshore picnic to stuffy dinner party. Sometimes he surprised himself with how little he missed that life, even when things weren’t going so hot, and even when he still ached for Stella like a missing limb. What had started as an extreme form of penance for the failure of his marriage had become a life he liked well enough. You know, so long as he didn’t think too hard about the future, and what it would be like to still be doing this as an old man. So, simplicity and shortsightedness were the names of the game.

“Some of the other mothers and I put together a basket.” Mrs. Besbriss gestured to a large wicker basket on the table. “It should last you until you get settled.”

Ray peeked under the checkered cloth: bread, cheese, apples and a pot of something. Not bad, not bad at all. “Thanks Mrs. Besbriss. I hope you didn’t go out of your way or nothing.”

“Well, we want you to know how much we appreciate your coming here. We know there are more appealing positions to young men such as yourself.”

“I’m not that young, and this posting suits me just fine.” He grinned in what he hoped was a reassuring way.

Mrs. Besbriss smiled politely back. “There’s one more thing you should know before tomorrow. There was an accident in the mine recently, and we lost over forty men, many of whom were the close relatives of your students.”

“Jesus,” breathed Ray. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Ray noticed Mrs. Besbriss twisted at her wedding ring before catching herself and putting her hands behind her back. “You may find the children somewhat restive, but I hope you’ll be understanding about the ordeal they’re going through.”

“Yeah, course.”

“I appreciate it. I’ll let you get settled in, then. Goodnight.”

Ray got the door for her and watched her walk off, back straight, into the twilight. It was going to be all right. In the ongoing mess that was his life since the divorce he’d reached a sort of equilibrium of suckitude and this job would be just another in a string of okay placements. He had very few expectations.

He did have a few regrets when the wolves woke him up howling in the small hours of the night, but eventually his heartbeat slowed from “I might die imminently,” to, “I’m very nervous but probably okay.” His previous gigs had been remote, but not _wolves_ remote. That could take some getting used to.

 

###

 

Most people didn’t understand kids, but that was because they were scared of them, when you got right down to it. They projected all sorts of nonsense onto them and worked themselves up into a panic about how they were going to turn out. The truth was, kids were simple: they wanted to be treated like adults, and if you appreciated their sense of humor, so much the better. Ray had discovered this quite by accident during his first gig in Alberta, when a full day of snapping at the little hellions had earned him their laughter but more importantly their undivided attention. Figured he couldn’t even intimidate a bunch of eight year olds, but hey. At least it turned out he wasn’t so bad at this teaching thing.

The only reason he was able to work as a teacher at all, Ray knew, was because out on the frontier they couldn’t afford to be picky. Plus, realistically speaking, most of the kids were never going to stay in school long enough to challenge his own education, meagre as it was. Every once in a while he got a smart one, but he just made it a game for them to catch his mistakes, particularly his spelling.

Ray leaned against his desk with his arms crossed, regarding the fifteen or so children seated around the saloon tables. They ranged in age from about five to early teens and had the cagey, slightly feral look of poor children the world over, but they were watching him back with minimal fidgeting. Despite having grown up in the second largest city in the states Ray recognized that look and approved of it. These kids were nobody’s fools.

“The name’s Kowalski. Two things to know about me: yes I’m American, and no I do not want to hear any more about the War of 1812. We’re not even gonna talk about it, all right?”

A giggle traveled around the room, and Ray deepened his scowl, which only increased their amusement.

“All right, all right. Get your slates out. I wanna see what youse know already, so just do what you can from these problems.”

Ray turned to the blackboard and started writing. The rest of the morning passed in fits and starts of instruction and going around checking everyone’s progress. About half the class, regardless of age, were shaky on their reading and writing, which Ray had expected. It was hard to make regular attendance a priority when a kid could be bringing in some money to put food on the table.

He was just starting to get a handle on all the names when a foghorn sounded from the direction of the mine and half the class bolted from their seats.

“Hey!” he yelled after them. “Hey, you can’t just run out of here! Gabe, Rosaleen, Emily, get back here!”

“I’m right here, sir,” said a voice at Ray’s elbow.

He spun on his heel to look down at a small blond girl. “Which one are you again?”

“Emily.”

“Right. And where did those, uh, rascals go off to? 

“The mine, sir. That horn means they found the bodies.”

“Oh for the love of,” Ray said. Just what he needed. “Let’s go, then.”

Ray parked his little group to one side of the crowd of townsfolk outside the mine entrance, holding young Philip on his hip and feeling like he was witnessing something personal he had no business intruding on. Frank Zuko, the mine owner, was smiling unctuously from his flash automobile, and Ray already hated him. He’d barely needed to see Zuko attempt to take ownership of the plank with a miner’s last words etched into it to make up his mind. Zuko thought because he had money and power he was automatically better than the men who worked for him.

But the people of Coal Valley had Zuko’s number too and from the looks on the faces of the handful of sooty men blocking his path, they were just about done standing for it. Ray adjusted his grip on Philip and glanced around, wondering if he should get the younger kids out of the way, if shit was about to hit the fan.

Just then he picked up the sound of hoof beats over the raised voices and a full on Mountie cantered onto the scene, forcing a path between the miners and Zuko’s car.

“Good morning Mr. Jacobson, Mr. Zuko. What seems to be the matter here?” the Mountie said in a voice that carried without shouting. 

“See here, Benny, this really isn’t any of your business—” Zuko said, but the Mountie held up a gloved hand and cut him off.

“Excuse me, Mr. Zuko, but I was speaking to Jack.”

Ray realized his mouth was hanging open. “Who is _that?_ ” he whispered to Philip.

“That’s Constable Fraser,” Philip lisped. “He’s only the best Mountie in the whole of Ontario.”

“Oh yeah, who says?”

“My mummy.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet she does,” Ray muttered, watching in amazed disbelief as Fraser dismounted, commandeered the plank, and got everyone to agree that he should find the author, all in one smooth movement. Even Zuko couldn’t figure out a way to complain, although he looked like he was sucking lemons as he roared off. Coal Valley had just got a lot more interesting.

Spectacle over, Ray began herding the children back towards town, thinking maybe he could salvage a few hours’ education for those kids who hadn’t been retraumatized by the discovery of their fathers’ bodies in the mine. “Come on, get your rear in gear. I see you Gabe, don’t think I don’t!” 

As he walked and cajoled he felt the weight of someone’s eyes heavy on his back but when he turned to look there was nobody, just the Mountie having an uncomfortable looking conversation with a few of the women. They crowded in close to him while he did a very good impression of a cornered deer.

The rest of the afternoon was a wash, and Ray let the remaining kids go without comment after all. He hoped that the next day would go smoother, but this kind of teaching was always kind of improv- _improvisational_. He sloped over to the other side of the saloon where Welsh was setting up for the evening crowd.

Ray liked Welsh fine. He was grumpy, which Ray approved of, but fair, which in Ray’s experience was an unusual combination. He also knew everything about everyone and was Ray’s first and last stop for information about the Mountie.

“So tell me about this Fraser character,” he said, pulling up a stool.

Welsh shot him a speculative glance from underneath bushy eyebrows but poured him a pint without his needing to ask, another thing Ray appreciated about him. “Not much to tell. Keeps to himself mostly.” 

“People seem to like him okay.”

Welsh frowned. “Sure they do, but the man’s not normal, you know? He’s not like you and me.”

Ray took a sip of his beer to disguise his reaction to Welsh’s comment. He wasn’t to know that Ray wasn’t normal like Welsh, either. He’d gone off women after Stella, and he’d found that the frontier lifestyle was tacitly accepting of single men of his inclination.

“Then again,” continued Welsh, “your predecessor got along with him just fine. Thick as thieves, those two were.”

Reading between the lines, it seemed like Fraser might be receptive to those inclinations as well. Hopefully. Any other place a man like Fraser—handsome, respectable and well-liked—wouldn’t look twice at a guy like Ray, but as the teacher Ray was a step above the miners and almost respectable himself.

Although it was too early to tell if Welsh meant that Fraser was like Ray’s not normal or the kind of not normal where he liked to go around wearing other people’s skin.

“That so unusual?”

“He’s a Mountie, right?” said Welsh. “Have to be kind of strange to sign up with them in the first place.”

“Sure.”

“Ah, but what you don’t understand is, he’s strange for a Mountie, too. And that’s saying something.”

“It is?”

“I forget you’re a Yank. We’ve had a few different Mounties posted here in my time, and they were all a little kooky, a few loonies short of a toonie if you catch my meaning, but none of them could hold a candle to Fraser.”

Welsh picked up a rag and began smearing it around some glasses. “Let me tell you a story, might help you get the picture. Before the first Ray came here, Fraser once went out in a blizzard to arrest a guy. They both almost died, but did he care? No. All’s he said was, that’s the last time he’ll fish over the limit.”

Ray could see how that kind of behavior would be concerning, but out of curiosity he asked, “How much over the limit was he?”

“Several tons, but that’s not the point. The point is, the man doesn’t know when to stop, and thank God Vecchio left cuz the two of them egged each other on, and the town just couldn’t take it anymore.”

“Huh.” Ray tipped back the last of his pint. It was difficult to know what to make of Welsh’s story. He didn’t know him well enough yet to see where or how he exaggerated, how much he misinterpreted, when the local gossip mill got in the mix. A guy fishing over the limit by several tons? Try the other one, buddy. “Sounds like an interesting fellow.”

Welsh paused in his smearing, an odd expression caught on his face. “No, not really,” he said. “Kind of dull, when you get right down to it.”

Ray definitely didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just rapped his knuckles on the bar, thanked Welsh for the beer and went home through the dusk.

Night came early this far north, even in September, but once it arrived it took its time, lingering and settling over the land like a dog pacing in circles before finally curling up in its bed. Ray liked it, once he’d gotten used to it. Back in Chicago, evening meant everyone else’s sounds thrown into sharp relief: music, laughter, shouting, sirens. But here it was as if the land itself was telling him to rest easy, relax, and for once he was able to listen. There was no one to perform for.

In his cabin, which had been the previous Ray’s cabin, now that he thought of it, not that there was any sign of the guy, Ray lit the stove for his bachelor’s supper of basic stew and retired early.

He thought about the Mountie a little bit as he got comfortable in his cot, idly stroking himself through his long underwear. He pictured the breadth of the man’s shoulders, the surety of his movement and the richness of his voice. He started breathing faster, and unfastened enough buttons on his union suit to get a hand inside. Wondering what the Mountie might look like out of uniform, if he was bossy in bed or not, made him gasp and jerk once— _twice_ —

Ray let out a long sigh and wiped his sticky hand on the corner of the blanket before turning over and falling asleep.

 

###

 

Ray hadn’t formed any expectations about when he might see the Mountie again—he knew they were responsible for a lot of land—but at the same if he was stationed in town, well, it was a one-horse kind of place. Still, he was surprised to see him in the saloon the next morning, standing by Ray’s desk, holding his hat by the brim and clearly reading the papers Ray’d left scattered over his desk top. His lucky day, for once.

“Can I help you?” Ray called from the saloon doors, his voice still scratchy with sleep. He decided to lean into his (hopefully) rakish appearance and sauntered over to his desk and collapsing in his chair, slouching and spreading his legs. 

Fraser took a delicate half-step back, but followed him closely with his eyes. Ray smirked. Up close Fraser was even more impressive, if that was possible. His posture and uniform were killer, giving nothing away, but there was a weight to his gaze that made Ray smile wider.

“Good morning,” Fraser said finally. “Stanley Kowalski, I presume?”

“It’s Ray.”

“No, it’s not,” Fraser said, quick as you please, a small frown line forming between his eyebrows.

“I think I know my own name,” Ray pointed out, amused.

“Which is Stanley R. Kowalski, from the city of Chicago, the State of Illinois, the United States of America.”

Ray wished he had the ability to raise one eyebrow. Stalker, much? “Right,” he said instead. “Stanley _Raymond_ Kowalski.”

Fraser was full-on grimacing at him now, and Ray wondered why he was tugging the guy’s chain right off the bat like this, but he was having fun. Probably Stella was right and he had that arrested development thing—never progressed past the little boy tugging on her pigtails. 

With a visible effort to rein in his irritation Fraser cleared his expression and offered his hand. “Please forgive my rudeness. Constable Benton Fraser, Ontario Provincial Police.”

Fraser’s hand was warm and solid in his, somehow still soft around the callouses across his palm.

‘What can I do you for?” asked Ray. 

“Ah yes. I stopped by to introduce myself and welcome you to Coal Valley,” Fraser paused to give a little bow, and Ray inclined his head gravely in return, “and to ask if you minded if I occupied a corner of your classroom? I need to interview some of the town members about the plaque that was found in the mine yesterday, and I hate to do it in the jail.”

“Why, the pokey blow up, too?”

“No, the jail building is fine,” Fraser said, and did Ray detect a hint of a blush? “But it’s hardly a fit place to speak to upstanding members of the community.”

“Fine, whatever. The table by the door is free.”

“Thank you kindly.”

By that time the kids had started to filter in and Ray’s attention was drawn away. Maybe later, when their routines were more established, he could split his focus, but not on day three. But he did notice Fraser greeting each student by name and rising like a Jack in the Box every time a girl walked in. The kids, for their part, were giddy at his presence, and Ray found he had to work a little harder than he liked to keep their eyes up front. Not that he could blame them. They all wanted Fraser, or wanted to be him, and sorting out which was which was going to be the major pre-, uh, _preoccupation_ of the next ten years or so of their lives.

“Marianne, what can you tell us about confederation,” Ray said, choosing as his victim a pretty redheaded girl with her head turned all the way round like an owl. 

“Um,” Marianne said, reluctantly facing forward, “confederation was when everyone decided to become the dominion of Canada.”

Ray chucked a piece of chalk at the back of Tom Haverly’s head. “C’mon man, pay attention. Anything else to add, Marianne? A date, maybe? Some names?”

“Um… no sir. 

“Okay everyone, take out your books and slates, I want at least three facts about the Charlottetown Conference, or the Quebec Conference, your choice, in half an hour.”

Ray prowled through the tables, hands stuffed in his pockets, on the lookout for students having genuine trouble and those itching to make it. If he also found his head turning to the back of the room where Fraser sat, back straight, hands interlaced before him, well, he wasn’t a student, was he? _Nyah, nyah._  

Shortly after fifteen young heads were mostly bowed over their work, the first of the mothers showed up. Ray suppressed a sigh. The black clad woman slipped into the chair opposite Fraser without a sound but everyone was aware of her presence, like an electric current spreading around the room. The holiday mood from Fraser’s arrival turned tense and miserable. The kids knew what was up, it was their fathers and brothers after all who had been killed in the mine collapse, and they wanted the plank just as badly as their heartbroken mothers did.

“Hey Rosaleen,” Ray whispered, crouching down at her side. As he had already come to expect from her, she alone was the exception and paid attention to neither Fraser nor her work. “What say we take a look at our history book, huh?”

She shrugged one limp shoulder without looking up.

“Are you having trouble with your reading?”

A small shake of the head. 

“Because you can tell me, I didn’t learn to read until I was ten, on account of needing these stupid glasses.” He patted his breast pocket where he kept the damn things unless in direst need.

A quick glance, the barest hint of a smile, but still another headshake.

“Okay, well, if you do get inspired, you know where to find it.” He pulled her book in front of her and opened it to the third chapter before rising creakily and moving on to put out the next fire: a disagreement between Emily and Mason over who had gotten chalk dust on whose new dress.

The glances Ray snuck of Fraser over the course of the morning revealed little beyond his first impression, no matter how he held them up and compared them to Welsh’s observations the previous evening. He could kind of see what Welsh had meant about Fraser being dull; he was so self-contained. Everything he did was deliberate, there was no aimless movement, almost like if he wasn’t careful with his grip on the back of Mrs. Breedlove’s chair he’d smash it to splinters trying to push it in for her.

When they broke for lunch, Fraser approached Ray’s desk while he was trying to decipher some slates—he thought his handwriting was bad, but he had nothing on these kids. He was happy to set them aside in deference to Fraser’s company.

“How goes the,” he gestured towards the table Fraser had been using, not sure how to refer to the process. Interviews seemed both too careless and too cold. 

“As well as can be expected,” said Fraser. “It’s a very fraught process, of course.”

“Fraught?” said Ray, momentarily forgetting he was supposed to be the smart one.

“Emotionally difficult,” Frasier said, without any of the gotcha undertones Ray had been bracing for. “There are a lot of competing interests, even among people accustomed to finding themselves on the same side of any disagreements.”

“Yeah, sounds tough. You sticking around this afternoon, too?”

“No, I believe I have all the information I need. I just wished to thank you again for accommodating us.”

“Right, no trouble, happy to help. Anything else I can do?”

Fraser paused long enough before replying that Ray was sure there _was_ something else and his mouth went dry with anticipation, but in the end the Mountie settled his hat on his head and merely took his leave. Ray was, uh, nonplussed, that was the word—and who wanted to bet that was one of Fraser’s favorites? People probably said it because of him all the time.

“Be seeing you,” Ray said. Even Mounties had to go out on a bash every once in a while, he hoped, and the saloon minus schoolchildren was the joint to do it in. 

 

###

 

The rhythms of frontier life were like a second language Ray could understand and even speak a little, but didn’t think he’d ever be fluent in. He could handle the chores that his small household required—drawing water from the pump, chopping wood for his stove (even if he could never get the pieces looking nice and regular like he saw stacked by all the other houses)—but there was a make-do quality to his work and he had to think about it, it didn’t come natural. 

Still, within a week he’d slipped into something of a routine. He rose at the last possible second and jogged over to the saloon where he nursed a pot of coffee through morning lessons and stuck around for a beer or two after the kids were gone. He’d managed to get their names down and everything else was window dressing. Coal Valley didn’t have much, but it seemed to have done a decent job raising its kids. There were a couple to keep an eye on, sure, some wisenheimers who might test him, and that quiet girl, Rosaleen, he didn’t like the charged feeling to her silence, but basically it was going to be okay. The toughest part would be to keep the smart kid, Gabe, occupied.

Welsh wasn’t a friend, exactly, and neither were the saloon’s other two regulars, Huey and Dewey, but it was enough to shoot the shit with them and bicker about whatever topic might come to mind. Dewey was an asshole who thought he was a comedian, but Huey was all right. Not making friends wasn’t exactly a part of Ray’s system but on the whole he found it easier. Sitting around with three other middle-aged bachelors depressed him if he did it too much, even as he accepted it as his lot in life. He’d never been the world’s friendliest guy, anyway.

He’d let Stella’s extensive social calendar wash over him, and considered himself one and done: one real, vital relationship was all he needed, and maybe all he was equipped for. Of course the flaws of such an arrangement became clear when his marriage fell apart, but no use crying over spilled rice. 

If there was one thing he’d change about his present circumstances, it would be to have, a, uh proper conversation with Fraser. But after the matter of the plank had been settled—it turned out to have been written by Mrs. Besbriss’s kid, real rough stuff—word on the street was that Fraser was off in the bush with no word on when he’d be back. But Ray could be patient—or at least, he wasn’t going anywhere.

At the end of the week, the food the mothers had left for Ray was gone, so he took himself down to the general store to see what was what. He was no gourmet chef or anything but he did all right for himself, long as he kept it simple and didn’t get ambitious. As a kid it had been one of his responsibilities to help get dinner together when his mom had to work late at the factory. That had all stopped with Stella of course, not that she ever set foot in a kitchen herself, but at least when it was all over but the crying he wasn’t scrambling without a woman to “do” for him.

Apparently Saturday was shopping day for a lot of the families in Coal Valley and Ray waited at the counter while the grocer finished helping a few women. No one seemed to be in a big hurry—grocery shopping obviously doubled as social hour. Ray tapped his fingers against the counter and tried not to look like an impatient asshole.

“Good morning Mr. Kowalski.” Mrs. Besbriss appeared at his elbow, looking as calm and collected as ever. He jumped in surprise.

“Hey, how’s things, I mean, obviously not good, but how are you holdin’ up?” Ray babbled.

“I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. How have you been settling in? I meant to stop by earlier, but with one thing or another…”

“No worries,” said Ray. “Everything’s great. The kids are great, and Coal Valley’s just a, just a real nice place.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I hope you know if you have any questions you can come to me.”

“Sure thing.”

“I know it’s a little early for this, but I wanted to make sure you were aware that we’re looking to fill this position on a permanent basis. So if you like it well enough to stay on, it’s yours.”

A little surprised, Ray shuffled his feet and crossed his arms. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And did I hear that Constable Fraser stopped by?" 

“He did, yeah, when he was interviewin’ everyone about, uh, you know.” Mrs. Besbriss was clearly determined to ignore all of Ray’s bumbling efforts to avoid the topic of her dead husband and son, and he could have kissed her feet, he was so grateful.

“And what did you think of our Mountie?” 

“Oh yeah, he’s great. Didn’t really get a chance to talk to him, but he seemed cool.”

“I’m happy to hear you think so. He’s very highly thought of here, by the mining families, at least. We were very sorry for him when Mr. Vecchio had to leave.” 

“I thought you guys were happy to see the back of Vecchio?” 

Mrs. Besbriss smiled. “Two things can be true at the same time, don’t you think?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“And I think I speak for all of us when I say that I hope Constable Fraser doesn’t have to go through something like that again.”

“Absolutely. Who’d want anything bad to happen to the guy?” 

“In fact, I think we’d go so far as to actively look out for his best interests. Constable Fraser has many very fine qualities, but he has been known to neglect himself.”

Ray had no idea what she was talking about anymore, but he nodded along happily anyway. It almost sounded like she was warning him off Fraser, but that couldn’t be right. A nice lady like her, she wouldn’t know anything about that, would she? “I got that sense, you’re totally right.”

“Then I’m so glad we agree.” With a parting pat on his arm, Mrs. Besbriss excused herself and went home with her purchases. In her wake Ray felt a bit like he’d been worked over by some back alley thugs, although he couldn’t for the life of him understand what for, only that it wouldn’t surprise him if that woman was running all of Coal Valley in another five years.

 

###

 

Fraser had a wolf. Fraser had a wolf who was getting intimate with Ray’s ear while Ray leaned as far back in his chair as he could without tipping over.

“What’s he doing?” he said through gritted teeth.

His students, traitors all of them, broke into delighted laughter. None of them were the least bit scared of the wolf, and Fraser, standing calmly in front of Ray’s desk at parade rest, hat in his hands, was playing along, Ray was sure of it. Even though the man betrayed no smile or twinkle in his eye there was just no way he wasn’t letting this happen on purpose. 

“I believe Diefenbaker is saying hello. If you’d like him to stop, just tell him,” said Fraser.

“Geroff me!” Ray said. He hunched his shoulders and twisted his face away. 

“But you’ll have to enunciate clearly. He’s deaf.”

More laughter from the kids. Ray was going to send them all home with double homework and see how they liked it.

“Get. Off. Me. Exclamation mark,” he said, twisting painfully to look the wolf in the eye while keeping his vulnerable bits out of reach. “And quiet in the peanut gallery or it’s detention for all of youse!”

Cue a chorus of “ _awws!”_ but the wolf backed off, so success.

“Cry me a river,” muttered Ray, wiping wolf slobber off his neck.

The wolf went to go bother the kids, who were pleased as punch about it, and Ray straightened his shirt and tried to look cool and unaffected 

“So, waddya want?” he asked Fraser, looking up at him with what he hoped was an aloof, confident expression, as if he hadn’t just been used as a chew toy.

Fraser’s face was so carefully blank Ray just knew he was laughing at him inside, but why did he find being the focus of the man’s attention so hot in spite of the less than ideal, in fact some might say humiliating, circumstances? Ray swallowed and belatedly fumbled his glasses off. He couldn’t believe he’d been caught wearing them, he’d probably just blown his one chance.

“I apologize for interrupting your class; I thought it would be concluded by now. I was hoping you could help me identify a certain piece of evidence in Mine Shaft 23. I have reason to believe it to originate in America, and as an American yourself—” 

“Yeah, I can help you with that,” said Ray, winking and cutting off what he suspected was gearing up to become a lecture on his own nationality. Holy shit. All self-pitying thoughts flew out the window and he grinned. He hadn’t thought Fraser would be quite so forward about his intentions, but it wasn’t like he was going to complain. What was he, an idiot? “Lemme just get rid of these yahoos first.”

In the end Ray practically had to shove the kids through the saloon doors to get them out of there. They never wanted to stay late for him. He thought about being offended they so obviously preferred Fraser’s company but his heart wasn’t in it. He had too much sympathy for the feeling.

Kids disposed of, Ray gestured for Fraser to lead the way. The whole thing felt somewhat surreal. He couldn’t remember the last time anything had gone this well for him with such little effort on his part. 

Fraser took Ray out of town in a direction Ray hadn’t been before, sort of up and around the entrance to the mine, through a scrubby forest of pine trees. Ray walked a few steps behind Fraser, admiring the view. Anticipation made his skin buzz and his awareness of his own body and breathing sharpen. It was a warm, sunny afternoon and the woods were peaceful, the only sound a woodpecker going to town somewhere nearby and the crunch and slide of their boots in the carpet of old pine needles. The sweet scent of pine surrounded them as they walked. Diefenbaker raced through the trees on either side of the trail, circling around to check on them every few minutes before galloping off again. It really couldn’t be more perfect, Ray thought. Idly he wondered where Fraser was taking him. He must know a secluded spot nearby.

Belatedly Ray realized Fraser was talking to him, and tried to tune in to the conversation.

“But that’s not important,” Fraser was saying. “What’s important is that I apprehend these malfeasants before they can ruin any more lives.”

“Right, yeah,” said Ray, utterly lost. “Tell me, Fraser, how’d you come into this line of work?”

Fraser stopped on the trail and turned to look at him. “Have you not been listening to anything I said?”

“Er.” Ray rubbed at the back of his neck. “If I say no, does that mean this whole thing gets called off?”

Fraser sighed and looked disappointed. “No, of course not. Ah, for reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture, I became a member of the North West Mounted Police under the influence of my father, who was himself a member, and I originally came to Coal Valley on the trail of his killers, and remained after taking over his posting as a member of the newly formed Ontario Provincial Police.”

“Aw jeez, I’m sorry Frase. I hope you got the guys that did it.”

“Yes, I’m happy to say that with Ray Vecchio’s help I was able to bring the persons responsible for my father’s death to justice.”

Ray wondered how a schoolteacher could be such a material help, but he didn’t really want to talk about the other Ray right now. Killed the mood for him even more than talking about dead fathers.

“And may I ask what brings an American to the Canadian frontier?”  With a light hand between Ray’s shoulder blades, Fraser directed him to continue walking to the right, where the path forked. The new track was wider and more heavily frequented, allowing them to walk side by side. Ray snuck a glance at Fraser from the corner of his eye, wondering how much to say. Fraser was looking openly at him, expression clear and untroubled. 

“Found myself at loose ends when my marriage went south,” Ray said eventually. “Saw an advertisement for teachers in the paper and figured, why not? My ex practically got the whole of Chicago in the divorce, maybe even the whole country, so Canada seemed like a reasonable option.”

“Do you know, that’s almost exactly what Ray Vecchio told me when he got here.” Fraser was smiling. “He was also previously married and from Chicago.”

Ray fought to keep a scowl off his face. “Where we going?” he asked instead. “We do too much more hiking and I won’t be good for much else.”

“Ah, I believe the entrance to Mine Shaft 23 is just up ahead.”

“We’re really going to a mine shaft?” Ha. Shaft. Whatever, Ray’d gotten off in less likely places, and leastways they would have some privacy.

“Yes, Ray, I believe that’s what I said when I asked you.” Fraser turned to look at Ray with honest confusion and Ray felt his spirits plummet as understanding dawned. Fraser was not leading him anywhere to hook up. They were actually going to look at some evidence in a dirty old mine shaft. He should have known the Mountie was too upstanding for cruising. Nuts.

“No reason,” he muttered.

He started feeling less charitable towards Fraser’s whole deal when the ground dropped out from underneath them and they were deposited ten feet belowground in a heap of rubble.

Ray sucked in a dusty lungful of air—landing had knocked the wind out of him—and sat up. He patted his arms and legs, just to make sure everything was still there. He was bruised and he’d be feeling it later, but he’d live.

“Mr. Kowalski, are you hurt?” came Fraser’s concerned voice out of the darkness nearby.

“’M fine,” said Ray. “And it’s Ray, do not give me none of this Mr. Kowalski business.”

“Understood. Ray.”

“How bout yourself?”

“Well, I appear to be pinned underneath a rather large rock.”

“Jesus Christ! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I believe I just did.”

Ray swore under his breath and tried to figure out what to do. The problem was that he couldn’t _see_ anything. He blinked hard until he could make out vague shapes. Some light was filtering in from the hole overheard and eventually his eyes adjusted enough that he could make out Fraser a few feet away, sitting against the shaft wall with a large boulder where his legs should be.

“This is only my second week here, okay, I should not have to be dealing with this,” Ray said as he clambered and slid over the jumble of dirt and rocks between them.

“Please don’t alarm yourself, I’m sure Diefenbaker will have gone for help. We’ve been in a similar position before. It’s how we met, in fact.”

 Ray didn’t even want to know. “I’ll alarm myself if I damn well please,” he snarled, crouching at Fraser’s side. Tentatively he placed a hand on the rock—it felt pretty wedged in there, and he didn’t want to try and shift it if it was just going to make things worse. “Does it hurt?”

“Thankfully, no. Some light contusions, perhaps. I’m afraid I simply don’t have the leverage to move it myself in my current position.”

“That’s good. Okay, I’m gonna get this thing off you in three—" 

“Wait!”

Ray took his hands off the rock like it was molten. “What! What!”

“My hat.” Fraser was pointing behind him. “I would feel more comfortable if I had it on.”

“ _Naturally_ ,” Ray muttered, but he didn’t think Fraser heard him.

Hat on, Fraser nodded and Ray heaved. For a second it didn’t seem like he was going to be able to do it, and boy would that have been embarrassing, but finally the rock tipped over and Fraser pulled his legs out of the way.

“Thank you kindly.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Ray slumped back against the wall beside Fraser. “I don’t suppose you know a way out of here?”

“Unfortunately this section of the tunnel is completely cut off due to previous rock falls.”

“And let me guess, we can’t climb out?”

“That would be inadvisable, due to the aforementioned instability." 

“Right, right. Silly of me to ask, really.”

“I’m sorry, Ray. I should never have dragged you out here with conditions so unsafe. It would have been preferable to bring the evidence to you, even if that meant disrupting the scene.”

Ray rolled his head to the side so he could look at Fraser in the gloom. He couldn’t tell if he was attempting to make a joke, but no, the man’s handsome features were twisted up in genuine regret, and he was staring down at his hands.

“Happens to the best of us. This is the third time this month for me,” Ray said.

“Really?”

“No.”

“This is,” Ray could just make out Fraser counting on his fingers, “the fifth time, for me.”

Ray thunked his head against the wall. What on Earth was he doing with this guy? “You’re a freak, you know that?”

“Understood.”

Ray slid a little further down the wall until he was in a true slouch. It was impossible to work up a proper sulk with good posture. And he needed to sulk because, and he could hardly believe it, he was still attracted to Fraser. The man had almost gotten him killed, and they’d only known each other for about an hour, total. There was clearly something wrong with both of them.

It was chilly, the cold seeping from the dirt wall into Ray’s muscles and he was glad when Fraser shifted until they were pressed together from shoulder to knee, sharing body heat. 

“I am sorry about this, Ray,” Fraser said.

Ray sighed and pushed himself out of his slouch—it was beginning to hurt his back. “Why’d you ask me to come with you, really?”

Fraser didn’t respond right away and Ray got the feeling he wasn’t used to be asked such direct questions and wasn’t sure how to reply. “I suppose,” he said slowly, “I was hoping to improve our acquaintance. Despite having lived in Coal Valley several years now I find myself, with the departure of Ray Vecchio at the beginning of the summer, at something of a loose end, socially speaking." 

“And you were anxious to see if you could go two for two?” 

Fraser huffed out a little laugh. “A colorful way of putting it, but essentially yes. Do you mind?”

Ray held himself as still as possible. What Fraser was talking about was _intimacy,_ relationship stuff, which didn’t even make any sense. He had to let him down gently; he didn’t know how they did things in Western Ontario, but where Ray came from women were for relationships and men were for when you were too messed up for women to bother with. The best course would be to plead ignorance of any undertext to their conversation.

“You mean like can you’n’me be friends?” Ray’s voice sounded strange to his ears; he hoped Fraser wouldn’t notice. 

“Yes, I would like that.”

“Sure, Frase,” Ray said, patting Fraser’s knee in what he hoped was a friendly, jovial way. “Just no more falling into mine shafts, okay?”

“Understood.” 

They were awfully silent for newly declared friends, but Fraser didn’t seem to mind, which only made Ray more confused and tongue-tied. He began to suspect that somehow, _he_ was the one who’d been let down easy, which on second thought made more sense. Fraser was playing the innocent again. Probably everyone wanted Fraser, and so he was used to gently putting people in their place, people like Ray because he was nothing special, not even the best Ray in Fraser’s acquaintance.

But before Ray could progress any further down that particular spiral, distant barking and men’s voices could be heard. Ray jumped to his feet and stood under the hole.

“Hey! We’re in here!” he shouted, waving his arms even though there was no way he could be seen.

Belatedly he noticed Fraser hadn’t joined him and was having trouble standing. He grabbed his arm and pulled it around his shoulders. “Hey, you weren’t lying to me about how badly hurt you were, were you?”

Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow with his free hand. “Nothing of the sort. It appears, ah, that my legs have fallen asleep, as they say, probably due to compression of the sciatic nerve while sitting, and that combined with some tenderness—”

“Enough already, go walk it off.” Ray slipped out from under Fraser’s arm before he got too comfortable and gave Fraser a light shove to get him started.

Watching Fraser totter around in circles, pausing occasionally to stamp his feet with all the dignity of a cat who’d walked in a puddle and was trying to shake the water off its paw, was doing Ray good. Knowing they’d be free shortly helped too, sure, but the sight was soothing to Ray’s bruised pride.

 

###

 

The next day Ray woke up so stiff he could barely roll out of bed. His bruises had bruises, and all of them were making themselves known.

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he muttered to himself as he limped to the outhouse, meaning both falling into mines and following strange men into the woods to make whoopee. It was only back alley tugs from beer buddies for him from now on. 

He found that as long as he kept moving it was manageable, which meant that he spent even more class time prowling through the tables than usual. The one thing he absolutely could not do was lean over to look at the kids’ slates; he had to pick them up and read them. He told the kids he forgot his glasses.

At the end of the day he was finally sitting down to a well-deserved beer and some less-deserved ribbing from Huey and Dewey when Diefenbaker bounded into the room, followed at a more casual pace by Fraser. Creakily Ray bent down to receive a slobbery greeting from the wolf. He was surprised to see Fraser, to be honest. He’d figured that after the disaster that was yesterday the man would tactfully back off on what was clearly a lost cause.

“Good afternoon, Ray. How are you feeling?”

“Like I fell down a mine shaft,” Ray said, ignoring Huey and Dewey’s sniggers. “Yourself?”

“I can’t complain. I was wondering if I could importune you for your opinion on the evidence I mentioned yesterday?”

Ray pointed his pint glass at Fraser threateningly. “I don’t know what imp-impor-whatever means but I am _not_ going back out to that mine shaft with you.”

“Ah, no, I thought not. Which is why I decided it would be prudent to take the mountain to Mohammed, so to speak.”

“Oh, well, all right then.” Ray could feel three pairs of interested eyes on his back (Welsh had wandered over too), as Fraser reached into a satchel and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. Suddenly he didn’t feel like doing this, innocent as it was, in front of spectators. He suspected their audience was waiting to laugh _at_ Fraser, and he didn’t think he could stand to be there when it happened. Draining his glass, he stood up and said, “Actually, I was just on my way out. Why don’t you walk with me and tell me all about it on the way?”

The piece of evidence Fraser produced once outside was a curved piece of wood, heavily charred at either end. Lengthwise, the interior was dark and smooth but the exterior was untreated and bore the faint remains of stenciled words. As Ray watched, horrified, Fraser raised it to his mouth and dabbed at it with his tongue.

“It’s from a barrel of malt liquor,” Fraser explained, turning it over in his hands. “I believe a group of criminals, of the type commonly known as bootleggers, were camped out in the abandoned mine shaft when one of their barrels broke and they decided to use the remains for firewood.”

“How can you have bootleggers when liquor’s not illegal?” Ray asked. Gingerly he took the ex-barrel stave from Fraser and sniffed. It smelled like burnt whiskey, big surprise. There was absolutely no need for any licking.

“The consumption of alcohol is not generally forbidden, no, but there are many communities within Ontario that feel they are better off without it, for example the ililiw, or Moose Cree, whom I believe to be the intended recipients of our erstwhile criminals’ wares.”

Ray mouthed some of Fraser’s phrases to himself to make sure he understood. People were selling alcohol to other people who, officially at least, didn’t want it. Got it. He decided not to worry about figuring out who the illy-whatsits were.

“Okay, so, what do you need me for?”

“I’m trying to ascertain the methods employed by the bootleggers. I’ve thrice found evidence of their traveling through the region, but I’ve so far made no progress in determining the source of their liquor or their means of conveying such large quantities of it. I suspect the mine operator, Frank Zuko, to be giving them financial backing as well as material support, but as yet I have no proof. It occurred to me, however, that they could be illegally importing it from the United States. Therefore, I wanted to ask your opinion.”

Ray frowned and looked down again at the stenciled letters. They had been painted lengthwise along the wood, but without much care and that combined with the fire meant there was only a P, an R and an L he could be sure of. Fraser was still talking, listing all the major port towns of the Great Lakes and their proximity to centers of grain production that the letters could possibly refer to.

“It’s Peoria,” Ray said, handing Fraser back the wood. They had reached his cabin and he bounded up the front steps and held the door open for Fraser. “It’s not on the water, but it’s close to Chicago and all the grain a bootlegger’s heart could desire." 

“That’s fascinating, Ray,” Fraser said, absently accepting the stave. “How do you figure that?”

Ray shrugged and turned away to light the stove. He was getting hungry. “Sounded like you woulda known already if it was a major city on the water, plus I know Chicago gets most of its whiskey from there, on account of all our distilleries burnt down in the Great Fire.” 

“Hmm,” said Fraser.

“What? _Hmm_ what?”

“Nothing, that’s a very interesting theory.”

Ray looked at Fraser over his shoulder, a little annoyed. “I know I’m right, Fraser. It’s Peoria. Why’d you ask me if you weren’t going to take my word for it?”

“As an officer of the law, especially one who operates with as much independence as I do, my standards for evidence must be higher than a guess, even one as highly educated as yours. But I’ll do my best to corroborate your, ah, hunch.”

“Whatever. Listen, you want some grub?”

Fraser was “most pleased” to accept Ray’s offer of dinner, once they agreed that grub was slang for food and not actual larvae, although Fraser was apparently more than happy to accept either, which Ray did _not_ need to know. Ray wasn’t entirely sure how he came to be standing in his kitchen cooking dinner for Fraser while Diefenbaker made a nuisance of himself underfoot—and he couldn’t believe he’d ever been scared of the mutt—but it was, well, kinda nice. Ray put some water on to boil and started throwing in whatever he found in the cupboards while Fraser wandered off.

Ray got the sense Fraser was inspecting the place for traces of Vecchio, moving through the room with his hands clasped behind his back but with eagle eyes missing nothing. Ray didn’t love it, but he was also curious to know what Fraser was picking up because as far as he could tell there was no trace of the previous inhabitant. Since moving to Coal Valley he’d occasionally had the paranoid feeling he’d accidentally wandered out of his own life and into someone else’s, only he could never be sure, the signs were all so subtle.

He wondered how much time Fraser and Vecchio had spent together in his cabin, hanging out, talking, fucking. The idea both fascinated and repulsed him. He imagined Vecchio as the Italian version of Fraser: olive skin, thick dark hair, full, expressive mouth and eyes ringed by long lashes. He’d be a little shorter, kind of stocky, but lithe and with a confident, sexy swagger. They probably looked good together, and Vecchio’s romantic, passionate nature (Ray assumed) would be a perfect match for Fraser’s quieter intensity. Ray was still a little unclear on how their arrangement had operated—he’d never heard of two guys playing house together—but he didn’t want to follow that line of thought too closely. It would just make him cranky. He and Fraser, as they’d agreed yesterday, were only friends.

“See anything you like?” he called out eventually.

Fraser came back to stand at Ray’s side. “You’ve set up an admirable home, Ray.”

For some reason that almost made Ray blush. He ducked his head over the potatoes he was cutting up. “Probably pretty different from the last time you were here, though, huh?" 

“Yes and no,” Fraser said. “The essential components remain, but you and Ray Vecchio have very different means of personal expression.”

Ray wasn’t sure what that meant, if it was good or bad, so he pulled a “hmm” of his own and kept chopping. A few minutes later when the stew was simmering on the stovetop he realized he’d lost track of Fraser entirely. After taking a confused tour of the cabin—how did someone disappear in two rooms?—he heard thuds coming from the back step and poking his head out the door discovered Fraser on his knees surrounded by the remains of his woodpile.

“Uh, whatcha doin’ down there, Frase?” Ray stepped outside and leaned against the railing of the small porch, hands stuffed in his pockets against the evening chill.

Fraser looked up to acknowledge his presence but didn’t stop picking up logs and moving them from one pile to another. “I’m restacking your firewood,” he said. “I believe I may have, at last, found a similarity between yourself and Ray Vecchio aside from your common name.”

“Our woodpiles?”

“Yes, he could never learn, or didn’t want to learn, how to stack it properly. I told him numerous times, you have to alternate the logs, but _would_ he listen?” Fraser actually giggled.

Ray groaned and said, “Fraser, that was _bad_ ,” but surprised himself by laughing anyway. “You want some help?”

“Not a t’all. It’s the least I can do in exchange for my supper.”

“Suit yourself.” Ray sat on the top step and looked out over the scrubby yard. The sky was deepening to a lovely shade of blue streaked with light pink clouds. There was something unexpectedly wonderful about sitting and watching Fraser work, confidently handling and flipping the logs. He was surprised at how much he was enjoying his company, and how quickly he’d become comfortable around him. He got the feeling it was mutual, which was even weirder.

By the time the woodpile had been reconstructed into a neat, sturdy looking rectangle that would be the envy of the neighborhood, the light had almost disappeared. The pine trees at the bottom of the yard were barely visible against the sky and the kitchen was a warm glow of heat and warmth against Ray’s back. Dief came to the doorway and whined.

“I think dinner’s ready,” Ray said, standing up and reaching out a hand to Fraser, who was still kneeling in front of the woodpile.

“Perfect timing,” Fraser said, accepting his hand.

Ray started talking while he dished up the stew, chattering really, and he couldn’t say why, exactly, just that it seemed important to make sure Fraser knew what he was getting into, bein’ friends with him. He wanted Fraser to know him as more than the second coming of Ray.

“When you first asked for my help, I thought maybe someone told you I used to be a Chicago flatfoot for a while, but then I remembered I never told no one here that, so how could they tell you?”

“A Chicago flatfoot?” Fraser asked as he accepted a bowl.

Ray shooed him to sit and served himself. “Yeah, you know, a beat cop. I usedta be one for a while, back when I first got married.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I dunno.” Ray shrugged and kept his attention on his stew. He no longer wanted to be telling Fraser this, but it kept coming out. “My parents didn’t like it, and Stell’s parents _really_ didn’t like it, it was too low-class for them. She came from real society folks, and my dad managed her dad’s property. He wanted me to learn a trade, something respectable, maybe become a clerk like my brother. But I don’t got a head for figures.”

“But did you like it? Being a policeman, I mean?”

Ray had to think about that. It’d been a long time since he’d consulted his own feelings on the matter. “Yeah, yeah I did. At first, at least. It was cool, right? Running around, being the big man on campus, all that. Stella thought it was exciting, although that wore off. She started listening to our parents too much, all why did I have to work anyway, her dad actually _wanted_ to support us, blah blah blah.”

“So you left the force for her?” Fraser was looking at him in his usual direct manner, but something about the forthrightness of his expression made Ray ashamed. He bet no one could convince Fraser to leave the OPP.

“I thought it was more important to keep our marriage happy than myself. Plus I wanted kids and Stella said she wouldn’t even consider it while I was doin’ something so dangerous. But then we didn’t wind up having them anyway, so.”

“It can be difficult to combine police work and family life,” said Fraser.

“I guess.” Ray’d lost his appetite and he fiddled with his spoon. “But I woulda made it work.”

“It’s admirable that you put your wife’s feelings ahead of your own.”

“Yeah, well, that only works when you’re both willing to do it, right? Otherwise you’re just bein’ d-u-m dumb.”

“How do you mean?”

“I tried every day to do what Stella wanted, be who Stella wanted, but it was never enough, and after fifteen years I wised up and realized she never returned the favor, she was just waiting for me to get tired of failing and give up.”

“So you left.”

“I had to. She woulda left me years earlier if she had the choice, and there’s only so long you can lie to yourself, right? The only good thing I ever did was convert so we could divorce. Least I’m an honest failure, now.”

Fraser was trying to meet his eye, wanting to give him an earnest look no doubt but Ray kept his gaze firmly on his stew. “Ray, I don’t think you’re a failure. You suffered a grave disappointment, yes, but you acted as honorably as you could given the situation and have since made a respectful life for yourself doing needful work. That’s not easy or trivial.”

Ray laughed hollowly. “Thanks Frase, d’you mind telling my dad that?”

“I would be happy to write him a letter,” Fraser said, with just the slightest hint of tongue in cheek. Ray laughed again, but it was a more pleasant sound this time.

“All right, enough about me. What about yourself? D’you got an ex-wife in Chicago too?”

Fraser straightened and cracked his neck. “Ah, not as such.”

“Frase, don’t tell me you’re the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.” Ray was suddenly on fire to know exactly what Fraser would reveal about his personal life.

“Of course not. I just meant, I’ve never been married.”

“ _But_ …” 

Fraser’s face was tight and drawn. He looked like an animal in a trap, one who might chew off his own limb if it meant getting away from this topic of conversation.

“Never mind, forget I asked.”

“I’m sorry Ray, but to confirm or deny any relationship with a lady would be unchivalrous—”

“I said do not worry about it. Tell me about your pops.”

“Well, I believe I already mentioned that I grew up in the area, and that I took over my father’s posting after his death.”

“Yeah, but that’s like,” Ray waved his hand around vaguely, “just the summary. Give me the real deal here." 

Fraser sighed and scrubbed at his eyebrow. “I suppose the real deal, as you put it, is that my grandparents raised me after my mother’s death, and it was… a lonely childhood. They were too old to really engage with me the way I wanted, and there weren’t many other children around.”

“Where was your dad in all this?” 

“He spent his time out on patrol, for the most part. I believe he found it difficult, after the death of my mother, to spend much time with me.”

“But that wasn’t your fault,” said Ray, growing indignant on Fraser’s behalf. “You were just a kid!”

“No, but emotions aren’t always logical.” 

“So he didn’t want you to follow in his footsteps, is that it?”

“To the contrary, he very much wanted me to be a Mountie. He instilled in me the belief that it was the highest honor I could achieve. It was my grandparents who were opposed. They saw the grief it had brought their son and wanted different for me.”

“How come you chose your dad over your grandparents?”

Fraser smiled ruefully. “I said emotions aren’t always logical, didn’t I? I was desperate for his approval, and I too came to believe that it was the most honorable course of action.” 

“Did it work? Was he proud of you?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I have of course performed my duty to the best of my ability, but sometimes it feels like there’s no winning with him.” 

“You sound like he’s still bugging you.”

“A-ha. Some people have a way of lingering, I’ve found.”

Fraser smiled and Ray grinned back. Even though they were talking about heavy subjects he was back in a good mood. He was struck with a sudden gratitude that Fraser hadn’t backed off like he’d assumed he would and that he’d stayed for dinner. He didn’t even mind any more that Fraser had dodged his advances earlier. If they’d started sleeping together they’d have to be careful about how much time they spent together and everything would be _fraught_ , as Fraser would say. This was, to Ray’s surprise, better.

After their confessional dinner, Fraser started showing up at the saloon once school was out every other day or so, asking if Ray could come out and play (read: bird-watching, which was boring, or helping Fraser destroy illegally placed traps, which was dangerous but fun). Each time Ray said yes to one of Fraser’s invitations he got to watch the man’s face light up. He got the sense Fraser’d been disappointed in this arena before and he wanted to have a word with whoever was responsible—Vecchio? The funny thing was, the more he hung out with Fraser, the less he thought about Vecchio. Ray was the one who had all of Fraser’s time and attention, Vecchio was just some idiot who’d skipped town.

The third time Fraser stopped by, Dewey made a comment about Ray and Fraser going steady, although he at least had the sense to say it after Fraser had left the room. Huey held Dewey’s arms while Ray gave him a couple warning punches to the ribs. Christ, what an asshole. 

Welsh threatened to throw them all out for fighting but he pulled Ray aside and said in a low voice, “It’s good to see you and Fraser getting along so well. Don’t pay any attention to Dewey, that man is a few bricks short of a load.”

Ray folded his arms, unsure where this conversation was going. “I never do.”

“Good. Good. Well, I should, ah, lots of glasses to clean. But no more fighting, hear me?” 

Ray hurried to catch up with Fraser and Dief—they were supposed to be going on a hike. Being friends with Fraser involved a lot more communing with nature and storytelling than Ray was strictly comfortable with, but it was kind of nice to stretch his legs, use up some of his restless energy instead of lounging at the saloon all afternoon. He might not always _listen_ to Fraser’s lectures, but he liked knowing they existed, and were on hand should he ever need them. 

When Ray noticed a bunch of metal pipes poking out of the trunks of some trees he got a full run-down on the process of making maple syrup, as well as the story of some bozo guy. If they were in the saloon or in front of other people he might have to be dismissive and tell Fraser he didn't want any bedtime story but out in the woods there was no one to see him pay attention and get drawn in.

“A long time ago,” Fraser told him, “life was very easy for the people. Game was plentiful and if one wanted maple syrup, all one had to do was break off a twig and drink the sap which poured forth. One day, Nanabozho went to visit his Anishinabe friends, but no one was in the village. Eventually he found them in a grove of maple trees, lying on their backs with their mouths open, drinking maple syrup.”

“It’s that good, huh?” Ray had heard of the stuff, but never tasted it.

“Very. But Nanabozho said, ‘this won’t do!’ and he went to the river and collected several buckets of water. He took the water to the tops of the trees and poured it in to thin the syrup. And now, if someone would like to enjoy some maple syrup, they have to work for it. In fact, maple sap must be reduced 50 to 70 parts to one to make syrup.”

Ray was outraged. “Why’d he have to go and make life harder for them? What’d they ever do to him?”

“Well, Nanabozho is a trickster figure, and their actions are never fully aligned with our own understanding of morality.” 

“Seems to me it would be trickier to cut the people some slack, slip the wool over the big man’s eyes, you know?” 

“Perhaps. But remember, this happened long ago, when everything was easy. It’s not good to have everything handed to you.” 

Ray frowned. “Yeah, but you should get _some_ stuff handed to you, _some_ times. There’s no award for being most miserable.”

Fraser seemed to think that a protestant work ethic was its own reward and the conversation devolved from there. But the next morning Ray found a small piece of crumbly maple candy on his desk. He ate half of it in one bite and it was so sweet it made his teeth ache. He put the other half in the crude oil Welsh called coffee and savored the aromatic mug the rest of the morning. 

The kids picked up on Ray’s improved mood, and the atmosphere in the classroom turned increasingly playful. Ray had thought that he’d had a good command of them before but it was nothing to having them really invested in his lessons, vying for his attention and approval. Their progress took off, and Ray began making plans for next year.

He needed to talk to Gabe’s dad about keeping him out of the mines—the kid was seriously smart, but he needed a better foundation before he started applying for scholarships to real schools. And he wanted to sit down with Marianne and get it through her head she should finish at least one more year before getting married. He’d gotten a look at the guy in question and, well, hopefully in a few months she’d get over the passion because the grouser was not worth it. Rosaleen still wasn’t talking, which was concerning, and he was going to have to speak to her mom, too.

When he realized what he was doing, planning for the future like that, he made sure to catch Mrs. Besbriss one day and let her know he intended to stay on. She made one of her mausoleum comments about Fraser, but looked happy enough.

He also asked Fraser about coming in and doing a couple guest lectures on the ecology of the area, which was met with a bashful, “if you’re certain I could be helpful.” 

Ray shot him a disbelieving look. “Frase, you’ll have them outing out of the palm of your hand. The only danger will be if they won’t take me back afterwards.” 

Not that Ray was spending all his time with Fraser. The man still had to go out on patrol, and some nights Ray just wanted the uncomplicated companionship of a beer and a bar. Plus Fraser always turned in early on Saturday nights so he could be up in time for the backwoods Methodist preacher who sermonized in a clearing on the edge of town—not Ray's idea of a fun time.

One evening Ray went back to the saloon after dinner to find it unexpectedly full. He pushed his way through the crowd, already feeling claustrophobic. He hadn’t been around this many people in months, and worse they were all strangers to him, loud rough men who stank of sweat and alcohol. Ray found Huey and Dewey huddled at one end of the bar and wedged himself in next to them.

“What the fuck is this mess?”

“Fucking scabs,” spat Huey. “Zuko brought ‘em in to replace the men who died.”

“Don’t you need the help?”

“Yeah but they’re not Union so he can pay them peanuts and undermine us.”

“Plus they act like animals,” added Dewey, looking mournfully down at his shirt where someone passing by had spilled their pint.

Ray surveyed the room, scowling. He hated to agree with Dewey but it was clear none of the men in the room had felt a woman’s touch in far too long, if ever. 

“How long is it gonna be like this?”

Huey shrugged. “Could be weeks. Union bosses don’t have a lot of leverage ‘cause we do need the manpower.”

Welsh finally made an appearance and slid Ray his usual pint. He looked harassed and didn’t stay to chat. Ray sipped at his beer and ignored Huey and Dewey’s debate (which was worse: mosquitos or blackflies). It had occurred to him that a crowd of strangers wasn’t just an annoyance, it was an opportunity. Just because he’d become friends with Fraser didn’t mean he had to be a monk. Usually the saloon was half-full of the kind of committed drinkers Ray didn’t care to approach, plus there simply wasn’t enough cover in that situation. Yes, most of the men there tonight were dirty and boorish, but a few of the younger guys, the ones who hadn’t yet devoted themselves to a dissolute lifestyle, weren’t so bad. Not like Ray could afford to be picky, anyway. 

A minute or two of scanning the room through lowered lashes and he made fleeting eye contact with one of them, a stocky man with light brown hair who detached himself from his friends and came over to stand at the bar next to Ray.

“I don’t remember seeing you earlier, do you work second shift?” the man asked, leaning slightly too close to be heard over the din.

“Nah, I work in town,” said Ray, still turned straight ahead.

The man sipped at his beer. “You smoke? I was gonna get some fresh air." 

“Yeah, sure. Meet you outside.”

The man nodded and placed his empty glass on the bar then disappeared back into the crowd. Ray drained his pint in three more swallows. 

“I’m getting out of here,” he shouted to Huey and Dewey. “Too noisy.”

They waved him off with barely a second glance.

Outside it was a relief to take a deep breath of the cool night air and he ambled off the saloon’s front porch and down the street a little, taking his time pulling a battered packet of smokes out of his breast pocket. The brunette from the bar caught up to him and lit his cigarette for him.

“Where to?”

Ray led him to the alley between the post office and the general store. It was a good, dark alley and he happened to know that both the grocer and the postmaster went to bed early. At the far end, behind some crates, the man held Ray against the wall with a hand on his chest and opened his pants roughly with the other. Ray leaned back and let him do it. He liked his slight smile. His features were still a little soft, boyish, but in another year or two that would be erased and he would be all firm-jawed man.

Ray’s breathing quickened as the man stroked his cock confidently and he spread his legs a little, settled more comfortably against the cold wall. It had been far too long since someone else had touched him and he leaned his head back with an open-mouthed gasp. The man clapped his free hand over Ray’s mouth and sped up, grasping him just a shade too tight, just the way he needed it. Breathing harshly through his nose Ray came in a matter of minutes.

As he caught his breath he felt full of goodwill towards mankind, relaxed enough that he didn’t even care when the miner pushed impatiently on his shoulder, already unfastening his pants one-handed. On his knees Ray grabbed him by his hips and bobbed his head on his cock a few times before he settled in and created some real suction. The man was holding his head tight, which Ray hated, but he had the feeling, from the man’s muffled grunts, this was going to be a short show so he ignored the pressure and increased his speed. With a choked off curse and no other warning—thanks a lot, asshole—the man started to come. Ray pulled off and spat discretely to the side while he jerked the guy a few more times.

Then came the inevitable awkward wiping up and tucking away, eyes suddenly averted. The young miner hesitated once he was done, but Ray let him off easy and indicated he was going to have another smoke.

“See you around,” Ray said, but turned out he never did. Most of the scabs moved on in a week or two, including the young brunette. Ray was relieved he didn't have to worry bout running into the guy after all, because god forbid Fraser happened to be with him.

 

###

 

Fall arrived in full force while Ray and Fraser explored the woods and lakes around Coal Valley. The trees bloomed bright with color, then gave up their leaves in great, crunchy drifts. Skeins of geese streamed across the sky, calling loudly to each other. Ray borrowed Fraser’s rifle and took down three in five minutes, on a dare. Well, okay, he dared himself because Fraser wouldn’t do it. They shared the birds with a few of the neediest families in town and Ray could taste the hot goose fat for days. 

Fraser offered to teach Ray to ride on Pierre, his horse, but Ray didn’t trust the canny look in the hell beast’s eye, so Fraser taught him to canoe instead. It was a little cold to be out on the water—when the wind picked up it wormed its way through all your layers—but being alone in the middle of a lake was a kind of peace Ray had rarely experienced. It was almost completely silent, just the sound of the water lapping at the sides of the birch bark canoe and his own breathing. He didn’t even mind much that he couldn’t swim if something were to happen. So naturally Fraser tried to take them over a waterfall (“Just a little one, Ray, you’ll hardly feel it.”) but Ray put his foot down and distracted Fraser by asking about the weird waterfowl that swam while half-submerged. Turned out it was a loon, and also the source of the eerie calls he’d been hearing, as Fraser demonstrated perfectly.

Canadian Thanksgiving was coming up, and for some reason every family wanted to play Host Teacher. Ray had vaguely remembered the holiday existed, but it didn't feel real to him and he hadn’t planned on celebrating it at all. The first invitation, from Gabe’s mom, he’d turned down with a casual thanks but no thanks, but as the day approached and the entire village seemed to know he didn’t have anywhere to go, they only stepped up the invitations like very polite mobsters, all making him offers he could neither refuse nor accept. He got the impression the whole place would die of shame if he spent the holiday alone, but how could he pick one family over the others at this point?

“I can’t,” he explained to Fraser. “It would be blatant favoritism.”

They were having a drink—beer for Ray, coffee for Fraser—after school on the Thursday before. 

“Would you care to accompany me on a short visit to an ililiw camp?” Fraser asked. “The Tall Pine Band are passing through the area on the way to their winter camp and I was planning to speak with them about the bootleggers.”

Ray grinned and slung an arm around Fraser’s shoulders. “Frase, you’re a life saver!”

“It would mean leaving early in the morning and hiking for several hours, and I can’t promise any kind of feast as you’re used to.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Well then,” Fraser said, and smiled back. “It will be nice to have some company. I’m looking forward to introducing you to Ahanu." 

“Who’s that?”

“He’s one of the tribal elders who was very kind to me when I was a boy. He taught me everything I know.”

“Huh. Guess I assumed your father did that, him being a Mountie and all.”

“My father was of course instrumental to my education,” Fraser hurried to reassure him, “but he was often away and didn’t have the time necessary to instill many of the skills of a hunter and tracker. It can be very tedious.”

“What? You’re admitting that sitting around in the dirt isn’t the most fun a guy can have with his clothes on?” 

The corners of Fraser’s eyes crinkled, but he said, “Did I say tedious? I’m sure I meant invigorating, or thrilling, or perhaps rejuvenating—”

“All right, all right, we get it, you’re a walking stegosaurus.” Ray moved to clap his hand over Fraser’s mouth but Fraser leaned back and avoided him neatly. 

“I think you mean thesaurus, Ray.” The man had to have the last word, it was like a compulsion with him.

“Shut up,” said Ray, grinning.

“Understood.”

Sometimes, especially when Fraser was looking straight at him like he was right now, Ray worried Fraser could tell he’d gone into the alley with that miner, like he could sniff it out days later. He didn’t want Fraser to know he’d done that, never mind that if Fraser did suss it out wasn’t like he was going to get all freaked out and stop talking to him. It was just that—that—Ray couldn’t imagine Fraser ever getting on his knees in a dirty alley and even though he wasn’t ashamed he didn’t want Fraser picturing him doing it either. (Although that begged the question: under what circumstances did the man get it on, or off, as it were?)

Whenever Ray found himself going down that particular spiral he would give his head a vigorous shake and sternly tell himself to stop being so paranoid and weird.

“Someone walking over your grave?” asked Fraser, who had watched him shiver. 

“Something like that, yeah.”

 

###

 

Fraser came to collect Ray early Monday morning when a heavy frost was on the ground and the sky was just lightening. Ray was groggy and half-dressed when Fraser showed up, stumbling around in his long underwear, looking for his other shoe and wishing he had time for coffee. Dief made a beeline for the stove where last night’s embers gave off a slight warmth, looking as pathetic as possible.

“You’re embarrassing yourself,” Fraser told him, hands on his hips. “You’re a native species to this climate, unlike Ray.” 

“What?” said Ray from the bedroom.

“It’s not important,” said Fraser, then prevented him from leaving the cabin without an extra sweater under his coat, which he deemed inadequate.

“The weather can change in an instant,” he said, bodily turning Ray away from the door, “and unlike Diefenbaker and myself, you lack natural resources against the elements.”

Ray and Diefenbaker shared a significant look, but once they got moving it was all right. The sun broke over the mountain at last and set everything sparkling until Ray had to close his eyes against the glare. Fraser considerately kept his narration down to remarks about different type of frost, which Ray felt free to ignore, and instead he let the by now familiar rhythm of their walking pace wake him up more gently.

An hour or so into their hike, Fraser stopped him with a hand on his arm and with the other pointed through the trees towards a good-sized stream.

“Look,” he whispered in Ray’s ear.

Ray couldn’t see shit, and Fraser’s proximity was hardly helping him concentrate. He fumbled his glasses on and sighting along Fraser’s arm eventually spotted a brown animal, roughly the size of a large footstool, trundling along the water’s edge.

“What is it? Some kind of overgrown river rat?”

“No, Ray, it’s a beaver.” Fraser practically glowed with happiness until Ray found it difficult to look directly at him. “I've been keeping track of it for a while—its's the first I’ve seen in the region since I was a child. They’re very rare now.”

“Huh,” said Ray. He sort of knew that beavers had been over hunted for their pelts, but despite his ignorance Fraser's enthusiasm worked its usual charm on him and he was smiling and clapping Fraser on the shoulder, saying, "I'm real happy for ya, buddy."

"Thank you, Ray," said Fraser. "With proper protections and sensible reintroduction I believe they'll make a full comeback."

The rest of the hike was uneventful (although Fraser did express a wish to see a moose and Ray, after hearing brief description, wished _not_ to see any moose), and they arrived at a large clearing on the edge of a lake a little before noon. The Tall Pine village was comprised of several bark and skin lodges, some of which were still being constructed. Birch bark canoes were pulled up on the shoreline and people bustled about, busy with the tasks of setting up a semi-permanent camp. A few cooking fires were going, and the results of hunting and fishing expeditions were being processed nearby. The people seemed relaxed and cheerful—there were even a few kids running around.

It was not at all what Ray had expected, but when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure _what_ he’d expected. Maybe Braves decked out in war paint and feathers, smoking a peace pipe around a fire? This despite the fact that he’d seen natives before in some of the towns he’d passed through, wearing normal leather outfits and quietly going about their business. He felt a little silly, now, especially when an older man separated from the crowd and greeted Fraser warmly.

Fraser and the man embraced and started babbling away in a language completely unlike any other Ray’d ever heard, and he grew up speaking Polish. Fraser had a big smile on his face and he kept his hand on the other guy’s arm. A flash of jealousy went through Ray and it took him a second to place it: he was used to being the only one Fraser looked at like that: with genuine pleasure and warmth. Ray shifted his weight and waited for them to remember he existed.

Finally Fraser turned to include him and said, “This is my good friend, Mr. Ray Kowalski. Ray, I’d like you to meet my mentor and guide, Ahanu.”

Ray stuck out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Ahanu took his hand somewhat gingerly and cast an openly speculative eye over him. He said something in Cree to Fraser, who laughed a little.

“What’d he say?”

“Ah, he was just checking to make sure you were a different man than Ray Vecchio. The name, and he finds it difficult to distinguish between white men, you see.”

Ray didn’t get what was quite so amusing about that but he said, “Sure, sure,” and followed them into the largest lodge. Thus began one of the strangest afternoons of his life. Everyone in the camp seemed to know and love Fraser, and they cycled in and out of the lodge to say hi, shoot the shit, whatever. Fraser introduced Ray to them all, but after the third, “That’s Keasik, she’s Maskepetoon’s sister or niece or cousin,” he stopped trying to keep track. Most gave him the hairy eyeball at first, but after Fraser vouched for him they would nod politely and maybe greet him in French, which he also did not speak. Dief settled in by the fire and accepted his own greetings majestically. At some point food was brought out and passed around and Ray ate with gusto, even though he recognized none of it.

“So how do you know Mahihkan?”

Ray jumped—he hadn’t realized Ahanu was next to him, or that he spoke English. 

“What’s Mahihkan?” Ray said. 

Ahanu nodded at Fraser. “Our little joke. He grew up with my children, he ever tell you that?”

“Yeah, he mentioned something like that.” 

“Even though he’s grown, I still have to look out for him. The boy’s helpless on his own.”

Ray had to grin. “That sounds like Fraser all right.” 

“So you understand I have to ask what your intentions towards him are.”

“What? Me? I don’t—we’re just friends, you know, um.” Ray had the strangest feeling of deja vu, even though he was certain he’d never spoken to Ahanu before in his life.

“Excuse me, Ray.” Fraser stood before them and Ray sighed in relief while simultaneously hoping against hope that Fraser’s bat ears hadn’t picked up any of that embarrassing exchange. “I wondered if I could speak with Ahanu? We really should discuss the matter at hand.”

“No skin off my nose,” said Ray. 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with the reason for my visit,” said Fraser, sitting on Ray’s other side.

“You mean you didn’t come to see me because you missed my company and good food?”

Fraser smiled. “That too, naturally. But I’m afraid I found the remains of another bootlegger encampment outside Coal Valley. Am I correct in assuming they made their way to you?”

“Yeah, they met us at the crossing of the Abitibi River. I chased them off, but later that night several young men went out to meet them.”

“That’s four times in six months.” Fraser looked thoughtfully into the fire. “Perhaps now we can find a pattern to their movements and anticipate their next approach." 

“It won’t matter if you don’t get Zuko as well. What’s that story you like? The one with the monster with many heads?”

“Ah yes, the hydra. A very apt analogy. I will do my best, but Zuko is adept at concealing his involvement.” 

“How d’you even know he’s involved in the first place?” asked Ray.

“Ray Vecchio overheard him bragging about it in the saloon. I don’t think Zuko expected that any white man would care about what he was doing, with the exception of myself.” 

“Most of them don’t,” said Ahanu.

“No, but that’s because they don’t understand—”

“They don’t want to understand.”

Ray got the feeling he had blundered into the middle of an old argument. He wished he weren’t literally sitting between the two men.

“When are you going to give up this Mountie business and come live with us?” Ahanu asked. “It’s no good for you to be on your own.”

“I’m not alone, nor am I a Mountie. I’m a member of the Ontario Provincial Police as you well know,” said Fraser, overly polite where Ahanu was cranky. “I have Diefenbaker, and Ray, and the people of Coal Valley, and I visit you as often as I can.”

Ahanu waved a hand dismissively at the mention of Coal Valley. “That’s not the same as belonging and you know it.”

“You know why I can’t resign my post. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“They can try to build a government school here, we can deal with that. Even you couldn’t find us if we didn’t want you too.”

Fraser pressed his lips together. He looked as close to losing his temper as Ray had ever seen him. Ray thought he was probably thinking the same thing as him: that the bootleggers had found the Tall Pine Band despite Ahanu not wanting them to, but he couldn’t say that without being insulting. Instead Fraser sighed and said, “I should really thank Ayamis for the meal, and then we should get going. It’s getting late. Excuse me.”

Ray felt Ahanu’s attention shift back to him and he avoided his eye. Internally he damned Fraser for abandoning him, even while he was turning over in his mind the fact that Fraser had listed Ray second only to Diefenbaker, whom he often referred to as his “lifelong companion.”

“This is what you have to deal with, knowing Fraser,” complained Ahanu. “The most stubborn man alive.”

“What did you mean about the schools?” Ray asked. 

Now it was Ahanu’s turn to sigh. “The companies want our land for trapping, mining, logging, and the government wants our children to teach them how to be white, not ililiw. Fraser’s been… how does he put it? Obfuscating the things he tells his superiors to hide us from their attention.”

Ray smiled. “Don’t you want him to keep, uh, ob-obfusc-pulling the wool over their eyes?”

“I let him do it because it makes him feel better, but I know it won’t make a difference in the end. They’ll come for us one way or another. He should spend his time in a better way.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Survive, like we’ve always done. The land has always been here, and the people have always been on the land. We were here before the white man came and we’ll be here long after you’re gone.”

Ahanu’s expression as he got up was partly sympathetic, partly superior, but Ray wasn’t offended. He supposed he ought to be, but it seemed to him that the inevitable unfeeling march of progress, the teeming, mechanized cities he had grown up with, had passed him by somehow. He hadn’t missed it for years and wouldn’t mind seeing it wiped away from the land like so much chalk erased on a blackboard. They had nothing he wanted, anymore.

A few minutes later Fraser came back over to where Ray and Diefenbaker were lounging by the fire, warming their toes. He squatted next to them and held his hands over the flames, frowning. 

Ray nudged him with his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s a storm on the way. Are you ready to go? If we move fast I believe we can reach my cabin before the worst of it hits; it’s about halfway between here and Coal Valley. I’m afraid I lost track of time and—”

“Pitter patter,” Ray said, standing and slinging his day pack over his shoulder. “It’s fine, Fraser. All part of the adventure, right?”

“Hmm.”

“I can hack it, all right?”

“No, no, I’m sure you can. I just regret putting you in the position of exposing yourself to unnecessary risk—”

“Can it, Fraser. If I have to listen to another of your pity parties I will pop you one, okay? You invited me, I accepted, that’s it.” Ray got up in Fraser’s personal space and poked him in the chest a few times for emphasis.

“Very well,” Fraser said, but there was the hint of a smile at the corner of his eyes. In the fire light he was more beautiful than usual, the flickering glow softening the planes of his face. He looked warm and happy. Outside the first snowflakes drifted into view. Ray realized he was staring and stomped off to join them.

“Let’s get at ‘er,” he called over his shoulder.

“Ah, Ray,” Fraser said. “Ray. Ray. _Ray_.”

Ray turned back. “What? I thought we were in a hurry.”

“We are, but my cabin is in the other direction.”

 

###

 

When Ray woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to remember where he was. Not because he was unused to waking up in strange places, but because he couldn’t remember ever being this _comfortable_. He looked around blurrily and didn’t recognize anything, but the previous evening slowly came back to him. He was in Fraser’s cabin—in Fraser’s bed in fact.

Speaking of Fraser, he was nowhere to be seen, but judging by the light streaming in from the nearby window, it was late morning already. Fraser had Morning Person stamped on his forehead in bright red letters, so he had probably been up for hours, being very productive and smug. Well, let him.

With a satisfied groan Ray stretched sore arms and legs, reveling in the heavy weight of flannel sheets under a down-filled quilt. He thought about getting up, but what was the rush?

Fraser’s cabin was a one-room affair, relatively spacious as those things went, and neat and well-made. There were clearly marked sections for eating, sleeping and living, all revolving around a large wood-burning stove. Bookshelves and cabinets lined the walls and there were three good-sized windows to boot. Looking at everything, from the clever way all the kitchen utensils were placed in their own little nooks, to the pieces of art—small carved animals, a few beaded and feathered things he couldn’t identify and a framed photo or two—it was so obviously a home Ray was unexpectedly jealous. 

Fraser could talk your ear off about all sorts of things, and he’d even tell you the odd personal detail if you asked directly, but there was such a remote air about him, something that Ray had assumed extended to his private life. If he’d thought about it, he’d have said Fraser would live in some kind of OPP temporary housing, not unlike Ray’s own shack. But instead, Fraser’s cabin was the kind of place Ray had always wanted for himself: simple and workmanlike, but personal and—and _cozy_. And more importantly, why should Fraser get to hoard all this goodness for himself when he hardly seemed to appreciate anything other than the bare necessities?

Feeling unhappy with that line of thought—of course he wanted Fraser to have nice things!—Ray pushed back the blankets went to the door to see about the facilities.

The storm had blown itself out during the night, transforming the landscape completely, as if an artist, tired of the direction their painting was going, had taken a brush heavily loaded with titanium white and swiped over everything. The air was hushed and still, giving it an otherworldly feel. Ray could have opened the door into another dimension and been none the wiser. A crow called nearby, startling him from his woolgathering, and he followed the path Fraser had broken to the outhouse.

Back inside, and still no sign of Fraser, Ray added a few logs to the stove and set a pot of snow on top to melt. He looked for coffee grounds but only found some tea, which would have to do. 

While he was waiting for the water to boil, Ray browsed the titles on the bookshelves, which held a random collection, to say the least. He noticed a well-thumbed family Bible, _Meditations_ by Marcus Aurelius, _The Birds of America_ , some kind of history of the Franklin Expedition, and _Jane Eyre_. Nothing he’d read himself but if there was one thing that hadn’t surprised him about Fraser’s cabin it was all the books. The man was practically a walking encyclopedia, of course he had books. 

The door swung open and Fraser came in with a great stomping of boots. His cheeks were red and he’d clearly been out tramping around in the woods to his heart’s content. “Good morning, Ray.”

“Morning, Frase. That’s some library you got there.”

“My grandparents were traveling librarians, and I inherited their collection.”

“Librarian grandparents, Mountie father,” Ray muttered to himself. “Suddenly you make a lot more sense.”

“I snowshoed into town this morning,” Fraser continued, moving into the kitchen and opening cupboards. “I think most of the parents will keep their children home due to the snow, but I took the liberty of putting a note on the saloon doors saying classes were cancelled for the day.”

Ray smacked himself on the forehead. “Stupid, I am so stupid. I got one job here and I completely forgot about it. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You seemed tired,” Fraser said, “and I only had the one pair of snowshoes here. I got my spares from the jail, but I’m afraid they need some patching. If you don’t mind waiting until after lunch I can get them ready and we can go back together.” 

“Yeah, all right. Thanks Frase. Anything I can do for food?”

Fraser gave him some vegetables to chop and they worked together in companionable silence, moving past and around each other easily, grabbing this here and taking it there, putting that here, no there. It was sort of like a dance, albeit the weirdest one Ray had ever been part of. Soon enough they had a good thing going and the smell of the venison steaks and roasted squash woke his stomach right up. He was in such a good mood he started shadowboxing a little, just to have something to do with all his extra energy.

“I liked Ahanu,” said Ray when they sat down to eat. “He seems like a good guy.”

Fraser smiled, pleased. “I had hoped you would.”

“How come you don’t stay with him and everyone? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so comfortable in Welsh’s saloon.”

“It would be nice, but I’m afraid it’s impossible.”

“I think Ahanu had some pretty good points last night. You could have a family with them.”

“I couldn’t give up my duty, Ray, you know that.”

“What has your duty ever gotten you?” Ray felt his irritation rise up and he put his spoon down. “It’s just a word. It does not mean anything.” 

“In fact it means a great deal. It means I can prevent the government from interfering any more into the lives of the Moose Cree than they already have, and I can ensure that they meet with justice when the law is unavoidable.”

“But Ahanu said those things are going to happen regardless. There’s more to life than-than digging the same ditch over and over again, and watching while it fills up with sand.” 

“Even if I can’t turn the tide, I can make a material difference in an individual’s life. Your concern is noted, but misplaced. I might go so far as to say you’re projecting your own concerns onto my situation.” 

Ray felt his face heat but he forced himself to speak. “Maybe I just don’t want to see a friend throw away an opportunity I’ll never get. That is not a crime.” 

Fraser had the good grace to look embarrassed. “You’re right, I apologize Ray. But I think you overstate my unhappiness. Yes, I have been lonely, and perhaps I do make things harder than they have to be, but I find my life fulfilling. I have Diefenbaker’s companionship, and your friendship, and the friendship of the Tall Pine Band. I really feel as though I have been blessed. Many people cannot say they have had such good friends as I.”

Ray wasn’t completely satisfied with that, but he knew a peace offering when he heard one. “All right, I can accept that.”

Fraser smiled. “Truce?”

“Truce.” 

“May I ask,” Fraser said, “why you’re so convinced you’ll never have a family? You’re a handsome, well-liked man, and I know there are many young women in Coal Valley who would not be, ah, adverse to your attentions.”

Ray folded his arms across his chest. “I’m done with women.”

Fraser opened his mouth as if it to respond, but then seemed to think better of it and they finished the meal in silence.

After they ate Fraser took the spare snowshoes to the living area along with several coils of rawhide. He sat cross-legged on the rag knot rug in front of the stove and Ray followed, curious. He’d snowshoed once or twice before, just as a lark, but he had no idea how one made or maintained them.

Fraser began narrating as he knotted and pulled. Ray let the whys and wherefores wash over him, only interjecting with the occasional huh and a-ha. He was enjoying watching Fraser’s confident hands spinning the snowshoe about, quickly filling in the gaps in the pattern of cords. Ray couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be the focus of those hands. There was a strength in them that he found exciting and a knowledge in them that could make him feel good, he was sure of it. He shifted a bit, finding his pants to be a little uncomfortable all of a sudden and aware that he was breathing kind of heavily, practically in Fraser’s ear.

“Everything all right, Ray?” Fraser looked up, all innocence.

Ray swallowed and it was loud against the silence. “Yup. Just got kind of antsy over here.”

“I’ll be done in a moment, and then we can be on our way.”

“Great. Greatness." 

But Fraser didn’t turn back to his work. Ray’s glance flicked from his eyes to his mouth, so close, and then Fraser licked his lower lip and Ray choked on air. His palms were sweating where they rested on his thighs. Before he could talk himself out of it, Ray leaned forward and closed the last inch between them. It was barely a kiss, more a press of lips, but then Fraser tilted his head just a bit and his hand came up to rest on the back of Ray’s neck. Then they were kissing for real, tongues sliding together messily, pushing themselves closer together. Ray grasped at Fraser’s biceps somewhat desperately—he was turned around by the intensity of it all but he didn’t want to slow down, it was too good. 

With a sharp intake of breath Fraser pulled away enough to look Ray in the eye. He kept his hand on Ray’s neck, thumb gently stroking the corner of his jaw. “Is this okay?" 

 _Gnuh_. Rays’ brain took a second to get in gear. Fraser’s face was a picture of open longing and Ray wanted to lean back in and make sure he never looked like that again, that he got everything he wanted, but in the next second he was horrified at himself. Fraser had just told him how important his friendship was to him, if they pursued this gone would be the carefree hours in each other’s company. It would be all looking over their shoulders and being paranoid. And he couldn’t give up Fraser’s friendship either. Hadn’t he just pointed out he had even less in his life than Fraser did?

“I don’t,” he paused to clear his throat, “I don’t think we should be doing this.”

In seconds Fraser had them completely separated and aside from lips that were slightly shinier than usual looked like absolutely nothing had happened. Ray felt like he had whiplash. He was still half-sprawled, leaning towards where Fraser had been sitting.

“I apologize,” said Fraser in his formal, talking to someone he didn’t particularly care for voice. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, Fraser,” said Ray, “I’m sorry, I should not have—Listen, let’s just pretend it never happened, okay? Still friends, right?" 

“Of course, Ray, please don’t worry about it. If you’ll give me just a moment I’ll have these snowshoes ready and you can get back to town.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ray muttered to himself and got to his feet to stare moodily out the window. This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. Why couldn’t he have a little self-control for once in his life? 

Apparently Fraser really did only need a minute to finish the snowshoes because soon he was tapping Ray’s shoulder and silently holding them out.

“Hey, thanks buddy, I’ll get these back to you ASAP.”

Fraser snorted. “I’ll take them back once we get into town.”

“You really do not have to come in with me.”

Fraser snorted again and went to get ready.

The hike into town was miserable and silent. Ray had never felt so ungainly or lame in front of Fraser before. He always knew he gave off eau de city slicker but the awkwardness between them seemed to have manifested in his limbs and he spent more time falling on his ass than he did snowshoeing. The worst was that Fraser didn’t try to help him up, just waited a few yards up the trail until Ray sorted himself out. And Ray knew he couldn’t have made it without Fraser finding the trail for them because Fraser would have let him go alone if it was at all safe. He didn’t want to be around Ray that badly.

When he got inside, after Fraser had deposited him at his front door without a word of goodbye, Ray bundled himself into his quilt and sat in one of the chairs in front of the stove. He let the shadows deepen around him without lighting a lamp, just staring into the flames of the open stove door. He didn’t understand how he could fucked things up so royally. It was the last thing he’d wanted to do, so naturally he’d done it like it was duck soup. Why was Fraser so resistant to the truth, that it was better this way? He could only hope that Fraser would forgive him.

 

###

 

No new snow fell, and the drifts of the stuff took on a dingy cast, especially in town where the people and horses churned it into the dirt. The children had been excited at first and prone to breaking out into snowball fights during lunch the first couple of days back, but even they had grown just as jaded to it as the adults. There would be more snow soon enough.

Ray was biding his time, waiting for the right moment to approach Fraser again. The tension between them gnawed at him, but he figured they both needed a little space. Things would go back to normal eventually, but one thing he’d learned about fights was you couldn’t rush things.

Instead Ray got on with his teaching, and if he had a shorter-temper and was less energetic than usual, he was able to explain that away by saying he had a cold. It sometimes felt like he was ill, anyway, when anxiety churned his gut, so what difference did it make?

A week after what he'd started mentally referring to as The Incident, he trailed off in the middle of a comment about the formation of the Great Lakes to stare at the map in front of him. He hadn’t actually looked at one since he’d arrived, despite the fact this had been hanging on the back of the blackboard the whole time, but now that he was, the part of his brain he associated with police work was yelling for attention. He was remembering buying his ferry ticket in Chicago two years ago, from the Northern Line. With one finger he traced the route up Lake Michigan from Chicago to Sault Ste. Marie and the many train connections there. He hadn’t gone directly to Coal Valley from there, of course, but he bet there was a train due north from there or he would eat Fraser’s hat. 

That had to be how the bootleggers were doing it. They already knew they were sourcing their whisky from Illinois, and it wouldn’t be hard for a man of Zuko’s reach to pay off a customs goldbrick. And then you were north of the border with a cartful of whisky and none the wiser. But the nice thing about ferries was they operated on a set schedule, meaning they could set up a sting, assuming Fraser had worked out the pattern of their trips, which knowing him he definitely had…

“Mr. Kowalski?” Gabe asked tentatively, and Ray remembered where he was: in the middle of a lesson on glaciers, not brainstorming with Fraser.

“Right,” he said, “who can name all the great lakes?”

He would have to track Fraser down this evening. Ray would have preferred to wait a few more days before casually swinging by for a chat, but he figured they could both act like adults when the occasion called for it. Well, if he could Fraser certainly could.

Ray walked to the jailhouse as soon as school let out. He'd never been inside before, even though Fraser must have spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t the kind of place you wanted to hang around in. That was by design—it was a depressing, squat building, little more than a square divided in half by a row of bars.

Fraser sat at a desk on the free side of the room, writing industriously. Diefenbaker lounged at his feet and looked up with a whine at Ray’s entrance. Though he knew Fraser was aware of his presence, he didn’t acknowledge him until Ray knocked on the doorframe.

“Ah, good afternoon. How can I help you, Mr. Kowalski?”

Ray reeled back as if he’d been hit and forgot what he was going to say. He gaped at Fraser instead.

“I’m afraid I’m quite busy, so if it isn’t important, you’ll have to excuse me.”

Just because Fraser didn’t want him there Ray stomped up to his desk and loomed over him. Dief got up with an anxious wine and tried to wrap himself around Ray’s knees, forgetting he was a wolf and not a cat.

“Cut the crap, Fraser,” he said. “I want to tell you something about the bootleggers." 

“Very well, proceed.” Fraser set down his pen and steepled his fingers.

It was funny how the better you knew a person, the faster they could get under your skin and steam you up. Ray looked at Fraser’s polite, impersonal expression, one he’d seen him pull on a daily basis for the last two months, but never at him, not since they first met, and he wanted to punch that smug look right off Fraser’s painfully handsome face. How dare he try to shut Ray out like this?

Ray shoved his balled-up fists into his pockets and swallowed hard. His anger seemed to have taken the form of a lump in his throat. “Fine. I figured out how they’re getting here. They’re taking the ferry from Chicago to Sault Ste. Marie, and I bet you Zuko’s paid off a customs guy there to look the other way when those barrels of whisky roll through. That’s how come Zuko’s got no ties to this, it’s all done in cash in the States.”

“Thank you, Ray. That’s a very engaging theory.”

“It is not a theory, it’s what’s happening, I know it.”

Fraser sat back in his seat but otherwise didn’t react. “Do you have any proof that this is the case?" 

“Listen, I come over here to do you a favor, the least you could do is take it seriously.” Ray jabbed a finger at Fraser’s chest. He was itching to knock the stupid hat off his head, anything to put a dent in his cold attitude.

Fraser stood and walked past him to hold open the door. “Thank you for stopping by. I’ll certainly take your idea under advisement. Now, if you don’t mind…" 

“Yeah, I do mind.” Ray pushed Fraser’s arm down and stepped into his space. “This is good police work and you need to take it seriously.”

Fraser swallowed and Ray could have sworn he saw Fraser’s eyes dip down to his mouth and back up. But then Fraser had a strong grip on Ray’s elbow and was pushing him towards the door.

“This really isn’t your concern, Ray,” Fraser ground out.

Ray dug in his heels. “What is your malfunction? What, I can’t offer you good intelligence just because I won’t sleep with you?”

It was exactly the right and the wrong thing to say. Fraser looked shocked and took a half step back. “ _You_ kissed me, if I'm not mistaken," he snapped.

"And I shouldn't'a done it, I'm sorry, all right? Can't we just forget about it?"

"Very well it's forgotten. But nevertheless I'm under no obligation to entertain every hunch of yours. You seem to have mistaken our former familiarity as a kind of deputation.”

“Former?” Ray mouthed. His eyes stung but damn if he was going to blink and make it obvious. “You said we were still friends.”

“Of course we’re still friends, Ray,” Fraser said and for the first time Ray heard condescension in his voice. “This is the level of association you expressed you were comfortable with, the last time we discussed the matter.” 

“Fraser, come on. You can’t shut me out like this. I did the right thing, and you know it. You can’t seriously be throwing our whole friendship away because of it!”

Fraser gave up on forcing Ray out and returned to his desk where he fiddled with some of the paperwork. With his back still turned he said, “I'm not ashamed of what I want, Ray, but it's clear you're not comfortable with it and I won't trouble you with my attention any longer."

Ray stalked after him. “That is not what I meant at all.”

“Fine, I don’t claim to understand your motivations, but you made it clear that you have no interest in continuing to develop our relationship in the direction I thought—Dief,  get out of the way. I don’t recall asking for your opinion on the matter.” With one leg Fraser pushed the wolf aside enough to sit down.

Ray gaped down at him. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I don’t know what kind of arrangement you had with Vecchio, but if we had-had done that, there’s no way we could keep on bein’ friends. You think I don’t understand how this works? Two guys, they start seein’ each other like that, they have to be careful, they can’t just spend time together whenever they want, do whatever they want. We wouldn’t be able to be friends anymore, Frase, and you just told me how important that was to you. I couldn’t risk that. Your friendship—” Ray had to swallow hard “—it’s that important to me too.”

Fraser flinched but didn’t look up. After a moment, he said quietly, “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on.”

“Goddammit!” Ray whirled and punched the wall closest to him. His hand hurt like blazes but at least he wasn’t in danger of crying anymore. Fraser never looked up, but he wasn’t working, just sitting there like a statue. With one backwards glance, Ray walked out. He’d done his best, but if Fraser wasn’t going to meet him halfway there was nothing he could do.

 

###

 

After that Ray avoided Fraser at all costs. He saw him from afar a few times, even caught his eye once or twice, and each time it was like a fresh blow. It was bad enough he started to think about leaving Coal Valley.

The kids could tell something was up, and his story about having a cold no longer held any water with them. He felt bad about how sensitive to his moods they were, but there was nothing for it. They had to learn sooner rather than later that people leaving was part of life. As soon as he thought it he felt like a total heel—these kids knew more than most about loss.

“Before we start long division,” Ray said, and paused for the inevitable groans. There were a few, but the class was quieter than he expected. Emily raised her hand. “Go ahead, Emily.”

“Sir, Rosaleen didn’t come back from lunch.”

Ray stifled a curse. Sure enough, Rosaleen’s spot in the back was empty. He should have noticed, too damn obsessed with his own drama.

“Okay, who saw her last?”

Gabe spoke up. “She was sitting on the porch while we were playing stickball.”

“And nobody saw her leave?”

Everyone shook their heads, but then Tim said, “She got scared with Mr. Backus drove by.”

“Who’s that?”

“He’s her neighbor. They all live on the edge of town. He worked in the mine with her daddy, until he died.”

“My ma says he turned to drink after the accident, that’s why he don’t work in the mine no more,” someone else added.

Ice settled in Ray’s gut and he muttered curses to himself and scrubbed at his hair until he could think clearly. 

“All right, maybe she just got spooked and hid. Marianne, you’re in charge of the room. Emily, Tim, Gabe, and Charlotte, you come with me, get your coats back on.”

Outside they spread out around the saloon and its outbuildings, calling Rosaleen’s name. The air was cold and bitter and Ray didn’t like to think of a small kid out here, but the alternative was worse. After a few minutes of fruitless searching, he collared Tim and pressed him for details on Backus.

“I dunno much about him, sir, but he’s creepy for sure. Keeps to himself, mostly.”

“Did Rosaleen ever say anything about him?” Ray asked, despite knowing it was hopeless expecting Rosaleen to speak about anything.

“No, but,” Tim paused, “I remember him driving by during lunch a couple times, and he always looked at us funny. Or at least I thought he was looking at us.”

“That’s helpful, kiddo, thanks. You go on back inside and tell them to hang tight. I’m going to find Rosaleen.”

Tim’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think Mr. Backus—” 

“Don’t worry about that, okay? I’m gonna go get her.” He pushed on Tim’s shoulder to get him going. “Emily! Charlotte! Go on inside!”

The saloon was going to be a hotbed of gossip and speculation in moments, but there wasn’t much Ray could do about that. Gabe trotted up to him expectantly.

“I need you to get Constable Fraser. Tell him to meet me at Backus’s place, that we’re looking for a missing girl.”

Gabe nodded once, his expression serious, and took off doing the street. Ray started running in the other direction, grateful for the weeks of hiking and rambling that had left him in the best shape of his life. The cold air burned his throat but he ignored it and pressed on.

He’d barely left town when the sound of a galloping horse approaching made him pause and look behind. Fraser was barreling down the road on Pierre. He slowed to a stop next to Ray and extended a gloved hand.

“He can carry us both, it’s not far.”

Awkwardly, Ray heaved himself up behind Fraser. “I don’t know how to ride!” he called out in alarm when Fraser urged the horse back into motion. Almost immediately the jouncing made him slip sideways and nearly fall off. 

“Put your arms around my waist,” Fraser called back, “and grip with your knees.”

Teeth gritted, Ray twined his arms around Fraser tight enough to interfere with Fraser’s breathing and clamped down with his legs. Pierre neighed and tossed his head with a jangle of the bit and increased his pace. Ray moaned—he really did not like horses, they gave him the heebs—and pressed his face between Fraser’s shoulder blades.

Five minutes later Fraser brought Pierre down to a walk. Ray raised his head to see they were approaching the first of two small cabins. Pierre stopped and Fraser hopped down. Ray slithered over Pierre’s flank and just barely managed to keep his feet beneath himself. With a quick signal to Fraser he ran around to the back of the tumble-down structure. It was a desperate looking place, weather beaten and patched with an overgrown yard littered with rusted out pieces of machinery.

Ray reached the back door just as a large man attempted to charge through it. Digging in his heels he managed to push Mr. Backus inside where Fraser was walking through from the front. Together they wrestled the man into his own kitchen chair. He stank of old sweat and sour beer.

“Tell me where she is, or I swear to god I’ll kick you in the head!” Ray yelled. Fraser looked alarmed and put a hand on his arm.

“Ray, I’m sure Mr. Backus will be happy to help us locate Rosaleen without the threat of force.”

“Oh yeah, why’d he try to run, then? Sure as hell seems guilty and uncooperative to me.”

Fraser had to concede that point. “Mr. Backus, perhaps you'd like to enlighten us?”

Backus was holding his hands up and looking between them with wide eyes. “Instinct?”

“Instinct!” crowed Ray. “Well that’s good enough for me, what about you, Fraser?”

“Now, just because a man has a history of illicit activity, it does not therefore mean post hoc ergo propter hoc he must be guilty of this specific crime.”

Ray and Backus shared a confused look and Ray raised a threatening hand. “Did you or did you not abduct Rosaleen Sullivan from school this afternoon? And don’t lie to me cuz I am not in the mood and I will feed you a knuckle sandwich faster than my buddy here can say boo.”

Fraser said his name in a disappointed tone but Mr. Backus seemed relieved to hear straight-forward English.

“I never touched a hair on her head, I swear,” he said.

“But you admit you saw her today?”

“Sure, I drove by and waved, but I didn’t even stop.”

“So why was she so upset, huh? Did you say something to her?”

“No, no. I think, sometimes, I remind her of her daddy. Me ‘n’ him used to be great friends, the Sullivans are my neighbors, see? And it’s been hard on all of us, but especially little Rosaleen.”

Ray straightened and took a step back. It didn’t take a detective to see that neither Mr. Backus nor Rosaleen were exactly thriving.

“Fine, but where is she, then?”

Backus wrung his hands in his lap. “I wish I knew, I would tell you. I hate to think of her all alone out there and it getting dark soon.”

To Ray’s embarrassment Backus broke into great heaving sobs. Fraser passed him his handkerchief and he pressed it to his face where it looked absurdly tiny and delicate against his broad features and tangled hair. 

“Oh dear,” said Fraser. “I’m sure it’s going to be all right, Mr. Backus. We’ll find her.”

“I have an idea,” said Ray.

“That we should speak with her mother?” asked Fraser. “Just what I was thinking.”

“No, she’s at the mine, I’m sure of it.”

Fraser looked doubtful and immediately the weird, unspoken truce they’d been operating under dissolved and Ray felt all his anger and resentment surge back into being like they’d never left. 

“Listen, I am not asking for your opinion or permission, okay? I’m going to the mine and you can do whatever your little robotic heart desires.”

Fraser’s mouth tightened and he settled his hat on his head. “Very well. I’ll speak to Mrs. Sullivan.”

Ray took off running through the bush, cutting a diagonal path straight to the mine. It was tough going, slogging through the dense undergrowth and uneven footing, but he knew he was right. He was the one who’d spent hours with Rosaleen, and even though she’d never said a word he’d gathered enough about her personality to feel certain she would want to be with her father. 

Twenty minutes later, he was rewarded with the sight of Rosaleen sitting huddled near the mine entrance. The place was deserted; everyone was still underground for another half hour at least. Ray slowed to a walk and caught his breath before walking up to her. No reason to panic her when she seemed physically okay, if obviously upset.

“Hey Rosie,” he said when he was close enough, “mind if I join you?”

She looked up and shook her head, and Ray saw that she was still clutching her lunch pail. Ray sat cross-legged next to her with a sigh. He was exhausted. He was really getting too old to be running around like this. 

“Not hungry?” he asked, nodding at the lunch pail.

She shook her head again but miracle of miracles, she opened her mouth like she was about to speak. Internally, Ray was punching the air and crowing his success but on the outside he kept it cool and waited for her to speak.

She said, “I was sposed to bring Pa his lunch. But I didn’t wanna do it, I was too lazy.”

Two fat tears rolled down her cheeks and Ray put his arm around her cold shoulders. “Oh, Rosie…”

“And then he _died_ ,” Rosaleen wailed, “and he must have been so _hungry_ and _mad_ at me! And I can’t tell Momma because she’ll be mad at me too!” 

Ray pulled her in to cry against his chest while he dug in his trouser pocket for his handkerchief. He wanted to tell her them’s the breaks and you just get used to it, but that would be cruel.

“Listen,” he said, wondering what he was going to say even as the words left his mouth, "we don’t always treat the people we love the way we oughta, but the thing about love is that it’s bigger than that. You always get a chance to put more good in than bad, always. Your daddy knew you loved him and even if he was a little hungry that day it didn’t change how much he loved _you_. Both of you already put too much love and good things into your relationship for a little thing like that to tip the balance. And the same goes for your mom, okay? In fact, I think she’d really like to hear about this, so she can tell you how much she loves you.” Ray leaned over so he could look Rosaleen in the eye. “She is not going to be mad at you, I promise.” 

Rosaleen nodded tentatively and he handed her the handkerchief to wipe her cheeks. She was quiet again but calm—confessing seemed to have taken it out of her.

A sixth sense made Ray look up and he saw Fraser helping Mrs. Sullivan off of Pierre a few yards away. He’d been expecting them. Rosaleen’s mom hurried over and Ray scrambled to his feet so as not to intrude on their reunion, although he couldn't avoid a hug of thanks. He gave them some space and went to stand next to Fraser, who was holding Pierre’s reins in front of him like a shield and looking even more stiff than usual. 

They watched in awkward silence as mother and daughter tearfully embraced, then opened the lunch pail and started to eat.

“Can I ask,” Fraser said, then stopped and cleared his throat. “That is, what you said to Miss Sullivan. Is that your, ah, philosophy? Regarding love, I mean.”

“What?” asked Ray. “You heard that?”

“I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but yes.”

Ray shrugged. “Guess so. Why?”

Fraser straightened his already perfectly straight shoulders before he replied. “I want to apologize for my behavior the other day. I hope you can forgive me, and that I haven’t lost your friendship.”

“No Frase, you’re the best friend I ever had."

"And you mine." 

Ray took a deep breath. The relief at hearing Fraser say that was powerful, but he had something to get off his chest. “That's good. Great. But I don’t think I can go back to how things were, before. It’s too dangerous.”

“Yes, that’s probably for the best,” Fraser said with a studied casualness, all traces of emotion tucked away. “We should cultivate some distance between us.”

“Right, that.” Ray realized with a pang that he had been half-hoping Fraser would object, offer some alternative solution. But it was so nice not to be fighting with Fraser anymore that he pushed the thought aside. 

Fraser cracked his neck. He must have been as uncomfortable as Ray; all his nervous ticks were on display. “Despite our avowal of distance, I was wondering if I could importune you for your help catching our local bootleggers. Based on your research, I was able to estimate their next date of arrival—next Thursday night, to be exact.”

Ray tried out a grin. “You’re just asking me ‘cause you feel bad.”

“Not a t’all. I value your experience as a policeman very much, Ray, my previous words to the contrary notwithstanding.”

“All right, since you ask so nice.” They almost smiled at each other, but then they remembered themselves and looked away.

Mrs. Sullivan and Rosaleen came over and Ray and Fraser got them settled on Pierre and walked them home. Ray lifted Rosaleen off the horse outside her house. Crouched in the dirt he gave her a hug and made her promise that she would talk in class the next day. She agreed with a big smile that broke Ray's heart all over again.

After she and her mom went inside, Ray made Fraser ride off without him and walked back to the saloon alone, because that was what friends like they were would do.

 

###

 

Fraser expected the bootleggers to pass through the area Thursday evening, so on Tuesday they met in the saloon to talk shop. By mutual, unspoken agreement they moved to one of the tables rather than sitting at the bar, partly to be discreet but mostly so Ray could take the seat across from Fraser. Dief lay under the table, on top of Ray’s feet. He’d been extra needy, lately, sticking close to Ray or Fraser and basically demanding to get his ruff scratched. Ray felt bad and always did it but Fraser seemed out of patience with his companion.

Fraser unrolled a few maps of the area, already chattering away about rates of travel, the standard size of a barrel of whiskey and the average weight a team of horses could pull.

Ray wasn’t really paying attention, he was too busy realizing the downfall of his new position. They couldn’t accidentally sit too close and brush up against each other, and Ray couldn’t forget himself and drape his arm over Fraser’s shoulders, sure, but he had to look at his too-handsome, earnest face and that was just as bad if not worse. He stared down at his beer instead. He’d always known they touched each other more than most men did but he hadn’t known how much it meant to him to do it.

“Ray? Are you listening? I’d like to wait for the bootleggers here, what do you think?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ray said without looking at the map. “Whatever you say.”

Fraser nodded uncertainly. “Thank you. And while you’ll have my rifle, I would prefer if you used it to intimidate, only.”

“Got it.”

Ray could tell his unusually cooperative attitude was weirding Fraser out, but Fraser’s own efforts to take Ray’s ideas into account and to include him in the decision making process was making him depressed. From the outside it may have looked like they were simply getting along well, but they were both aware how forced it all was. 

Ray stood with a loud scraping of chair against floor. Dief gave an offended whine and moved to Fraser’s side of the table. “I’m gonna hit the can.” 

“All right.”

Ray stomped outside. He didn’t know why he couldn’t ever make anything easy, he always had to take the hardest route. Fraser was practically bending over backwards to make the terms of their new friendship work and here he was, pretending to take a leak in the cold because he just couldn’t deal. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets and kicked at the side of the building. He had to give it more time, he knew that, he just thought it might kill him.

Welsh cornered him on his way back inside. “You want to tell me what’s going on between you and the Constable?” 

Ray snarled, knocking Welsh’s hand away and stepping up into his personal space. “We’re working on some Mountie shit, that okay with you?”

“Hey,” Welsh said, “you two been fighting for weeks and now you’re being suspiciously polite, even for Fraser.”

“We’re fine, we made up, what’s it to you?”

“Don’t bite my head off for showing a little friendly interest, Kowalski. If you’re fine, you’re fine." 

“Great. Next time don’t bother.”

Welsh rolled his eyes and retreated behind the bar. Ray slammed back down in his seat and drained his beer. Fraser frowned up at him.

“What did Welsh want?”

“Nothing.”

Fraser visibly decided not to press the issue, and said, “If we leave right at three tomorrow, we should be able to meet up with them before the light goes.”

“Okay.”

“So you’ll need to end your class a touch early, I’m afraid.”

“I said okay.” Ray started bouncing his right knee. He couldn’t stand the worried way Fraser was looking at him, or how he was hyper aware of Welsh puttering in the background, observing their every move. He wanted to never have to deal with Fraser ever again and he wanted to reach out and kiss Fraser across the table in equal measure. He’d never been what you might call _restrained,_ but he’d never had this much trouble controlling his impulses until he promised not to do it no more.

“Then I think we’re as prepared as we can be,” Fraser said, rerolling his maps.

“Great.” Ray stood and waited for Fraser to finish collecting his things and settle his hat on his head. His empty hands twitched at his sides.

“Goodnight, Welsh,” said Fraser. “Ray, you’re not staying for another drink? You don’t have to leave on my account.”

Ray held the door for Fraser and muttered into his ear as he passed, “It’s not _always_ queer for two guys to leave at the same time.”

Outside, Fraser paused so abruptly Ray nearly ran into him. “No, I didn’t mean to imply that, I just meant…”

But Fraser didn’t seem to know what he meant and went on looking at Ray, whose mouth was dry and whose heart was beating a million miles a minute, just like it always did before he went and did something goopy. He glanced around—the street was deserted and even Dief was giving them some space. Before Fraser could collect himself, Ray lurched forward and pressed his half open mouth against Fraser’s. He pressed Fraser’s lips apart and licked at his tongue, holding him still with one hand on the back of his neck.

For a moment, Fraser kissed back, sucking on Ray’s tongue and biting at his lower lip before he put his hands on Ray’s shoulders and gently pushed him back. His hat was askew and his cheeks were flushed but he looked cautious, not even annoyed like Ray had been bracing for.

“I thought you didn’t want to do this?”

Everything rushed out of Ray at once: his anger, his desire, his possessiveness, until all that was left was a hollow defeat. He felt like one of his own students after they’d been called out on the rug. He stepped out of Fraser’s reach to show he got the message. “No, right. Sorry.”

Fraser nodded and resettled his hat on his head. “Good night, Ray.”

Watching Fraser disappear into the twilight, Ray knew then that he would have to leave. He’d known all along it was too good to be true, that he and Fraser could be the normal kind of friends. He would write to the school system and request a transfer first thing tomorrow. No use torturing them both longer than necessary.

Ray turned away from Fraser, but he didn’t feel like going home. He wandered down the few spare streets that made up Coal Valley, feeling sorry for himself but not surprised. The weather had turned a bitter cold and probably if Fraser were with him he would have made a scary accurate prediction about the likelihood of snow. But he wasn’t there. Instead there was the dark jailhouse, the post office and the general store, and the little café Mrs. Besbriss had opened. Warm light spilled out onto the street and Ray’s mouth watered at the smell of her cinnamon scones and gooseberry muffins. He pulled his coat tighter around his neck and continued on.

The neat houses in their rows were full of light and movement and Ray shamelessly peered inside as he passed, watching families sit together for their evening meal, some laughing and joking, others solemn or even tense. The sight filled him not with the longing he’d expected but a strange sort of wistfulness that made the insides of his ears itch. He didn’t want that, not anymore, not for a long time, really, but it looked awfully nice to enjoy getting what you wanted, whatever that might be.

With a quiet bark, Diefenbaker trotted up to him out of the dark. Ray looked around for Fraser, but the wolf was on his own recon-recognition. Dief planted his paws on Ray’s shoulders and gave his face thorough licking, despite Ray’s protests. When he was done he peered at Ray for a long time. 

“What?” said Ray, cranky. “I do not speak wolf.”

Dief looked disappointed in him.

“I barely speak English!”

Dief barked reproachfully. Ray sighed and rubbed behind his ears. “Yeah I know, pal. Me too. But what else can I do?”

With one last lick Dief got down and ran off. Ray wiped his face. He was going to miss that damn mutt.

At home he got into bed without eating dinner, just wrapped himself up in his quilt and stared into the dark. He was staring down forty with no family, no kids, and a failed marriage under his belt already. He was going to join the ranks of the sad, itinerant men who populated the groggeries of the world, killing time—in fact, he already had joined them, he’d just been ignoring the truth of his circumstances.

His cold, hard cot that couldn’t even comfortably fit another person was like the final nail in the coffin. It was impossible not to compare it to Fraser’s bed, what felt like a lifetime ago and which he hadn’t let himself think about since. Sleeping next to Fraser struck him as much more intimate than their two kisses. When they’d arrived at Fraser’s cabin it had been late and they were half-frozen. The wind and snow had meant slow going and often Ray had needed to walk with his hand on Fraser’s shoulder to keep on the path. Inside, Fraser lit a lamp and in the warm glow shown Ray where he could hang his outer layers, soaked through from the snow, to dry.

Shivering violently in long johns Ray followed Fraser to the bed, piled high with blankets and quilts. There was no fire and the cabin was cold, but he’d known that with their shared body heat they’d soon be warm. The corner of his mind that couldn’t be stopped from lewd thought no matter how inappropriate, had been excited by Fraser’s closeness. In defense against his baser urges Ray lay on his back at the edge of the bed, his muscles shuddering uncontrollably in a vain attempt to warm himself. 

Lying in a similarly prone position but without any apparent discomfort, Fraser murmured something and wrapped himself bodily around Ray, one heavy arm slung across his chest and a thigh lying over his own. It was absolute heaven. Fraser radiated heat and the pressure of his weight on Ray was both arousing and reassuring. The last thing Ray remembered before he dropped off was thinking that he could get used to this.

Alone in his cabin Ray twisted the knife and imagined what it might have been like if Fraser’s embrace had turned more than friendly, if he’d wrapped himself just a little tighter around Ray and started kissing him, running his hands over Ray’s chest and lower. He couldn’t stop thinking how he had never lain in bed with a man before, never kissed a man before, never even had sex with the same man more than once before. The unfairness of what he couldn’t have consumed him and he began to cry.

 

###

 

Thursday morning, Ray stumbled into his kitchen to find Mrs. Besbriss standing there, hands on her hips and tapping her foot.

“Mrs. Besbriss, Jesus!” he yelped, hands going across his bare chest. “I’m not decent!”

Her unimpressed expression told him he didn’t have anything she hadn’t seen before. “I’ll wait.”

Mystified as to why she had appeared in his cabin but not wanting to upset her further with questions, he hurried to pull on a shirt and pants, then went back and added boots as well. He just couldn’t face her barefoot.

“To, uh, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Ray asked when he reentered the kitchen. He edged around Mrs. Besbriss to get the stove going, watching her from the corner of his eye. He needed coffee, stat, if he was going to withstand the dressing down he was about to get.

“What’s this I hear about you applying for a transfer?” she asked.

“Aw, Mrs. Besbriss, I’m sorry you had to hear that from someone else. I know it puts you in a tight spot, but I can wait around until you get someone else.”

“I’m perfectly capable of teaching the children for a week or two,” she said. “What I don’t understand is you leaving Fraser. I thought we had an agreement about that." 

Ray turned in surprise. “Leaving Fraser? An agreement?”

“Yes. We agreed that he’d been treated very poorly by Mr. Vecchio, Miss Metcalf, and Miss Thatcher, and you said you weren’t about to do that. But now I hear you’re leaving, just like the rest of them." 

Ray wanted to scream, but settled for banging the kettle around instead. Fraser's loneliness could not be his responsibility, it just couldn't. What about his own loneliness, huh? And furthermore, who the hell were those women? He could hardly ask Mrs. Besbriss because if Fraser knew they were talking about his personal life he’d up and die of embarrassment. Plus he’d be so disappointed in Ray, Ray would die too, of shame.

“Now, listen here,” Ray said when he’d got a hold of himself. “I don’t know about no agreement but it’s better for everyone if I go, so I’m going just as soon as you can scare up some dumb goop to take my place.”

“Well neither of you know what’s good for you,” Mrs. Besbriss snapped back. 

“Try telling him that!” Ray threw up his hands. “Wait, me? What the hell—I mean heck—are you talking about?"

It was Mrs. Besbriss’s turn to look confused. “Do you mean to say that yourself and Constable Fraser aren’t involved?”

Ray’s face went hot and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish. There was no way she’d just said what he thought she’d said.

“I see.” Mrs. Besbriss looked disappointed in him, of all things. “Have you told Constable Fraser about your intent to leave?”

Ray should his head dumbly.

“Good. Welsh relieved the stage coach of you letter of resignation. I’m going to hold onto it for now, while you and Fraser have a serious conversation. I’m not letting you give up so easy, Mr. Kowalski.”

With a terse nod she spun on her heel and was gone as quickly as she had arrived. Ray was left gaping. She actually wanted him and Fraser to be involved? He must have misunderstood, somehow, though her words had been perfectly clear… And since when was she in cahoots with Welsh? The whole town had gone mad, it was the only explanation. The only _seemed_ sane compared to Fraser, who was the craziest of them all.

Ray finished getting ready for the long day ahead like a clockwork figure he’d once seen in a Chicago department store, jerkily and without thought but mimicking a real person. While he ate and then gathered up all his extra layers his mind was caught between two parallel thoughts: _when to tell Fraser he was leaving,_ and _Mrs. Besbriss had assumed they were_ involved. He didn’t know what to do about either, and the heavy gray clouds reflected his dark mood as he walked to the saloon. 

He was distracted all through class and he almost forgot to make sure Rosaleen answered at least one question. She barely spoke above a whisper, it was true, but she would smile so sweetly when he gave her a thumbs up for a job well done. He really was proud of her, and once he’d thought about that he was swamped by a fresh wave of guilt for leaving.

Fraser would be okay, of that Ray was certain. He felt bad about leaving so soon after they’d made up but he wasn’t worried about Fraser being on his own so much. Frase would manage, he was good at being alone. In fact, Ray thought, he would be better off than Ray himself. But Ray felt like the lowest of the low for abandoning the kids through no fault of their own. He didn’t even want to think about how to tell them he was going.

In the end he dismissed them all a full hour early. It was cowardly, and he knew it, but he couldn’t stand to look at their hopeful little faces a second longer. Luckily they didn’t seem to notice the extent of his misery and fled the saloon whooping and hallooing like a bunch of young criminals.

He paced and fidgeted while he waited for Fraser. Welsh came out at one point but Ray glared at him, just daring him to mention Mrs. Besbriss’s comments, until he disappeared into a back room. He decided not to tell Fraser he was leaving tonight. It wouldn’t be fair to distract him on such an important operation. And he wouldn’t bring up what Mrs. Besbriss had said at all, ever. There was no way to do it without making Fraser feel trespassed against.

When Fraser showed up, he only poked his head inside for a second then closed the door again. Ray wasn’t sure if he was just reading the room or respecting the new terms of their friendship but silence was fine with him. He shrugged on his coat and followed. 

As he approached Fraser, sitting impassively on Pierre, his heart started pounding double-time and his stomach rebelled against his lunch. He tried not to let it show as he accepted Fraser’s hand and clambered up behind him. Christ but it was hard just to be around Fraser. He would have to be extra careful to steel himself against falling into their too-familiar routine once more. It would be more difficult now but easier later if he got himself in check.

Once seated he placed his hands on top of his thighs rather than around Fraser’s waist. He hoped they didn’t go above a trot so he wouldn’t fall off like this but to touch Fraser would be to undo everything. He couldn’t let Fraser down again.

It started to snow softly as they rode out of town, big fat flakes that meandered their way to the ground. They still weren’t speaking and Ray became mesmerized watching the snow fall.

Fraser stopped about a mile south of Coal Valley and they went into the woods at the side of the road. Diefenbaker trotted further down the road, giving them a look as he went that Ray could only describe as exasperated. By then everything, including them, was covered in a fine layer of snow and Ray brushed at his arms and shoulders irritably.

He leaned against a tree and lit a cigarette. It was kind of exciting, when he could concentrate on the sting ahead. It had been years since he’d taken part in any kind of police work, but his body seemed to remember and be ready. He suppressed a shiver of anticipation.

“You’d be warmer if you came back up here,” said Fraser, who was still sitting on Pierre, peering out at the road from his vantage point.

“’M fine,” said Ray, not looking up.

Fraser cleared his throat. Apparently he’d decided they’d been quiet long enough. “Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Tiberius?”

Ray sighed. “No.”

“He was quite the individualist. A follower of the transcendentalist movement, in the spring and summer he often sported a flower or two in his beard." 

Ray glanced at Fraser, who had on his most butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth expression. He frowned. “That’s real queer, Frase.”

“Indeed, but he enjoyed the effect and he was never one to care overmuch what others thought of him. In fact, for many years he lived with—”

Fraser cut himself off. He was staring at Pierre’s ears, which were swiveling about. “They’re coming,” he said quietly. 

Ray cracked the rifle to double-check that it was loaded and moved into position behind a tree at the very edge of the road. Dief came running back up to them, followed a minute later by a wagon pulled by two horses and carrying three men. The bed of the wagon was full of medium-sized barrels. That had to be the yeggs, all right. When it was only a few yards away Fraser clucked to Pierre and went out into the middle of the road.

“Good afternoon,” he called.

The wagon slowed to a halt and Ray could hear a whispered argument:

“—one man, we can take—”

“—don’t even know—”

“—do the talking, okay?”

The man with the reins leaned back against the driving board and pasted on an unconvincing smile. The two other men, a younger one sitting next to the driver and a much larger man crouched among the barrels, fidgeted and scowled respectively.

“Good afternoon, sir. How may we help you?”

“I’m looking for contraband whiskey,” said Fraser. “I’m afraid I have to ask you to disembark while I search your cargo.”

Ray groaned under his breath. Trust Fraser to just tell the bad guys the truth. As if they would ever in a million years agree to that. 

The driver scratched at his beard, the very picture of nonchalance. “I don’t know about any contraband, but we’re happy to help. Only we’re on a pretty tight schedule—gotta get in before nightfall, see?”

“And where might you be heading?”

“Co—” said the younger man before he was stopped by an unsubtle whack from the largest bootlegger.

“A trading post up by the Garden River headwaters,” the driver said smoothly. 

“That’s quite a distance,” said Fraser.

“So we oughtta get movin’,” said the man in back.

“If you would exit the vehicle, I’m sure we can resolve this quickly,” Fraser said.

“We’re just carrying cooking fuel from Detroit,” said the young man. “You can look at our customs papers, I got em right here, there’s no need to search us.” 

Fraser opened his mouth to answer when the man in the wagon bed apparently decided he’d had enough of this farce and drew a handgun from his jacket pocket.

“Get out of the road, Mountie.”

Ray swore and trained his rifle on the bearlike man. He knew something like this was bound to happen.

Fraser didn’t even flinch at the sight of the Roscoe; his hands were still resting lightly on his pommel. “I can’t do that.”

“You date, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” whisper-shouted the driver. “Now we’ll have to kill him, which is a lot more work.”

“He’s not going to let us pass, so we’ll have to kill him anyway.”

The young man licked his lips and his hand drifted to his pocket. Ray kept his rifle trained on the gunman but watched the passenger—the inexperienced ones could be the most dangerous. He wanted to fire already but Fraser had been insistent he not injure anybody unless absolutely necessary, and Fraser still looked unconcerned.

“I do _not_ get paid enough for murder,” complained the driver.

“Shut up,” said the gunman and aimed directly at Fraser’s head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ray chanted and fired.

All hell broke loose. The gunman shouted and fell back into the wagon bed. His six shooter flew from his hand where Ray had shot him. The driver and the passenger drew their own weapons and Dief jumped up and pulled one of them down—Ray couldn’t see which he was too busy reloading—all while the horses went mad at the gunshots and the presence of a wolf.

When Ray looked up again the young man was racing down the road, Dief hot on his heels, and Fraser was off Pierre and wrestling with the driver. Ray abandoned the rifle to go help, dodging the rearing horses, but before he reached the struggling pair he noticed the driver trying to heave himself over the side of the wagon.

Ray darted forward, and grabbing the man by the collar, roughly pulled him over the sideboard to land in a heap on the ground.

“A very nice shot, Ray,” called Fraser.

“Thanks,” said Ray, panting slightly from trying to cuff the uncooperative bootlegger.

“As I was saying earlier, my Uncle Tiberius—”

“Are you _kidding_ me?” rasped the gunman. “You’re the craziest Mountie I’ve ever seen.”

Ray bounced his head off a convenient wagon wheel. “Shut up and get your hands behind your back.”

“A common misconception,” said Fraser, “but Ontario now operates its own police force, the Ontario Provincial Police. So I wouldn’t be the craziest Mountie you’ve ever seen, as I am no longer a Mountie.”

“I don’t think he cares, Frase,” said Ray, finally snapping closed the cuffs.

Fraser had cuffed the driver too, and he straightened, brushing off his hands. “Perhaps you’re right. Shall we see where Diefenbaker and the third man have gotten to?”

They jogged down the road. Ray was feeling the high of an operation done well—it was almost, but not quite, like he used to feel when he and Fraser would hang out in the woods. But he couldn’t think like that. He was just doing a favor for a friend before he left town. 

If Ray had expected Fraser to drop the family story hour, he was mistaken. He didn’t mind it, exactly, he just wished he knew why Fraser was doing it. It was odd, even for him.

“My Uncle Tiberius was a very singular man, as I believe I mentioned,” Fraser said as they came up to the last bootlegger sprawled face down in the road with Dief standing on his back and growling in his ear.

“So was he the craziest Mountie ever?” Ray asked in the spirit of if you can’t stop ‘em, join ‘em.

“No, he was a trapper and guide and amateur painter in Moose Factory, where he lived with a close friend for almost three decades, until their untimely deaths one winter when their chimney became blocked—but that’s another story.” Fraser patted Dief’s back. “Good work. I think that should do it." 

Once Dief stepped off his back, the bootlegger began whimpering, “Oh thank you, thank you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know, just don’t tell my ma.”

“Save it for the jury, kid.” Ray hauled the man to his feet while Fraser got out another pair of handcuffs.

“I won’t personally inform your mother of your arrest,” said Fraser, “but I can’t promise she won’t find out. Ray, did I mention that my uncle’s friend and, ah, roommate, was male?”

Ray froze, still holding hard to the kid’s skinny arm. His heart was beating fast again. “No. But that’s impossible.” 

“It’s unusual, certainly, but not impossible, I assure you.”

“And no one hassled them over it?” 

“I can’t say they never had any trouble, but they were well-liked and respected by their community.”

Ray stared wild-eyed at Fraser. “Why are you telling me this?”

Fraser licked his lip before answering. “You’re aware that I take after my uncle.”

“Yeah.”

“It occurred to me recently, however, that you might not have had an Uncle Tiberius.” 

“Can’t say that I do.”

Fraser nodded. “So you weren’t aware that that was an option. And once I realized that, I thought it only fair that I let you know. And propose we come to a similar arrangement." 

Ray felt like someone had slipped the ground out from under him when he wasn’t looking. All he could do was stare at Fraser, his mind a complete blank. Fraser was looking back at him with a kind of stubborn-terrified expression Ray had never seen before. 

“I think that’s a great idea, sir,” said the kid. “My aunt and her best friend have been living together for years now. They save a ton of money.”

“Fraser, I asked for a transfer,” Ray blurted out. “But-but,” he added as fast as he could, even as Fraser’s face became shuttered, “Welsh and Mrs. Besbriss got a hold of it, they knew something was up and they didn’t want me to leave without talking to you.”

Fraser still looked wary but he lifted his chin and asked, “Do you want to stay?” 

“Not unless it’s like—like you said. That’s why I was going to leave—I couldn’t stand it otherwise.” 

Finally the doubt and guardedness cleared and Fraser smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, Ray. I don’t know if I could have stood it, either.” 

Grinning back, Ray asked, “Did Mrs. Besbriss visit you this morning, too?”

“No, my father—that is, I remembered some advice my father once gave me. He said a man should never allow his opponent to dictate the end of a fight. So I determined to broach the subject once more." 

Ray barked out a laugh. “Good thing you did, or else I would have done somethin’ dumb.”

He wanted to wrap his arms around Fraser and kiss him until they were both breathless. He wanted to jump and shout at the top of his lungs that that he and Fraser weren’t ever going to be apart no more. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this jazzed. He gripped the young man’s arm hard, as if he was holding onto Fraser, and staring at Fraser he knew he was thinking the same thing.

An impatient bark from Dief brought them back to the present. The kid was looking between the two of them—two grown men grinning like loons at each other—completely lost.

“Guess we gotta get this wrapped up first though, huh?”

It was hard to tell in the fading light, but Ray thought Fraser blushed a little to be caught so distracted while on duty. 

“Right you are. And then—” 

“And then we’ll finish this conversation.” 

“Exactly. This conversation. Ah. Do you think you could drive the wagon back to town?” 

“No problemo.” Ray had never done such a thing in his life but he thought he could fly if only Fraser would ask him to.

They wedged the bootleggers in among their wares—a quick examination proved these were the casks of whiskey from Peoria they were looking for—and returned to Coal Valley. It must have taken a good half hour—the snow was falling faster and thicker and the light was almost gone—but to Ray the time passed as if in a dream. It was lucky the horses knew what they were doing because he couldn’t stop turning to stare at Fraser riding along beside him. One minute he was cutting himself off from Fraser and the life he’d started to build and wondering how he might cauterize the wound and the next he was actually going to get everything he’d wanted but was too afraid to ask for.

It took ages—years—before the bootleggers were settled comfortably in the jail and they could leave. First the man Ray shot had to be seen by the doctor, and then the retired miner who served as night guard on the rare occasion someone spent the night in jail had to be fetched from the saloon and judged to be sober enough to do his duty. Ray glared at the poor man over Fraser’s should, just _daring_ him to wobble or slur while Fraser administered a quick field sobriety test.

All this while the whole town just happened to stop by the jail on their way home.

“Who are they?” asked Dewey.

“The bootleggers, remember?” said Huey. “Fraser’s been tracking them for months.”

“Oh, right. I thought they’d be a bigger deal.”

“Hey,” said the driver, in injured tones.

“Out!” shouted Ray.  
  
“Mr. Kowalski, Constable Fraser,” said Mrs. Besbriss, ignoring his command. “I’m happy to see that everything worked out.”

Ray blushed. “Mrs. Besbriss, should you really be here?”

She smiled but stepped out with a kind but knowing, “Good night.”

Welsh congratulated them in his gruff way on a job well done while the injured gunman complained of being ill-treated. The youngest bootlegger had drawn Fraser into a discussion of his legal rights when Ray snapped.

“Everybody not currently behind bars or on duty needs to leave the hoosegow before I kick them in the head!”

Conversation stopped. Fraser turned to look at him in surprise.

“Yes, that means you,” Ray told him, physically pushing the grocer and the postmaster out the door. “You can tell Billy the Kid all about his options in the morning.”

Once everyone else was gone Ray grabbed Fraser by the elbow and towed him outside. The clouds had cleared and the moonlight on the fresh snow was bright enough that Ray could see Fraser smiling at him. He put his hands on Ray’s waist and drew him in until they were standing chest to chest and then he leaned forward and kissed him. 

“C’mon,” said Ray breathlessly. “Let’s get out of here.” He started to lead the way to the trail to Fraser’s cabin.

“Ray. Ray. Ray.” 

“What? What?” 

“I thought, perhaps, your place might be best, given the late hour and the fact that we both need to be in town again early in the morning.” 

Ray frowned. “Yeah, all right. But just for tonight, okay?”

“I think I can agree to those terms.” They started walking towards Ray’s cabin. 

“Good, ‘cause I got other demands.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. One, you gotta teach me how to snowshoe so I can get to the saloon for class from your place, and B, what was that about your uncle’s chimney?”

“You used two different organizational systems, were you aware?”

“ _Fraser,_ you know what I meant.”

He laughed. “You’re right, I do. My uncle’s chimney was blocked and the cabin filled with bad air, causing him and his partner to suffocate in their sleep.”

“Okay, I gotta insist we keep the chimney clear at all times.”

“Most reasonable. I accept.”

“You sure?” 

“Very.” 

“Good. Me too.”

 

 

 

**Epilogue**

 

In the dim light, Ray could just make out Fraser turn to look at him in surprise. “Ray Vecchio and I were never intimate.”

“ _What?_ ” Ray sat up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. “You let me think this whole time that I was some kind of—some kind of replacement, and now you tell me you and Vecchio were never _intimate?_ ”

“That’s rather unfair, Ray. I had no idea until just now that you were laboring under this misapprehension, and I only learned relatively recently that you wished for more than friendship yourself.”

“Jesus wept,” Ray moaned into his hands. He scrubbed at his face and through his hair, which had to be sticking up every which way by now.

Fraser rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. Ray just knew if he opened his eyes Fraser would be looking up at him with a terribly earnest expression that it turned out he was completely vulnerable to.

“Look at it this way: it was a very lucky misunderstanding, as it led you to pursue me, and now we both have what we want. Would you have thought to do so without that seeming encouragement?”

Ray chewed on that thought for a moment. Certainly he would still have been attracted, he had eyes didn’t he, but would he have flirted with the fine, upstanding officer of the law? Probably not. Probably he would have pined like a freaking tree and met up with one of the unmarried miners out in the woods and pretended with his eyes closed it was Fraser.

“Yeah, no. Fine, it worked out, I just feel like a dunce.”

“I don’t think you’re a dunce.” Fraser wrapped a warm arm around Ray’s waist and tilted him closer until he could press his lips to Ray’s biceps, up his shoulder and to his neck. Ray let himself be pulled back down.

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this as a joke after Netflix wouldn't stop suggesting I watch When Calls the Heart, but it eventually grew into more of a character study. I honestly don't know if it holds together as a story but it was a great experience testing out the characters and style of Due South, which I watched for the first time last winter and immediately fell in love with. I had a lot of fun incorporating as many elements of the show as I could and I only regret I wasn't able to include Frannie. This is the first long piece I've finished in a long, long time and it felt good to stretch those muscles again in a perhaps more deliberate way than I was able to before. By which I mean: maybe don't read anything else I've got posted on here lol.
> 
> Huge thank you to the dirtbags, Ellis, Alix, and tigrrmilk for letting me spend literal hours agonizing over my love for Ray and Fraser and talking me through this story ad nauseam.
> 
> If you would like to scream about Due South with me on twitter, I'm @luffandtoucher and would love to hear from you!


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